


A Bicycle Built For Two

by Patricia_Holm



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Assault, Bicycles, Doping in sports, F/M, Poisoning, Race Fixing, Smut, Tandem Bikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-25 10:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patricia_Holm/pseuds/Patricia_Holm
Summary: Jack and Phryne work together to solve two murders related to the bicycle racing.  The investigation is the first case for Fisher and Robinson Consulting Detectives and requires them to race a tandem bike.





	1. A Call from the Commissioner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is summoned to the Commissioner's office and given an ultimatum about his private life.

“Inspector,” Constable Hugh Collins called from the front desk, “call from the Commissioner’s Office for you.” 

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson resisted his long-ingrained instinct to stand to attention anytime the Commissioner called. 

“Thank you, Collins”, he replied and then picked up the phone. 

“Yes, … of course … yes … certainly, I will be there as soon as I can,” Jack spoke into the handset. 

He stood up and scratched his head, carefully not disrupting his pomaded hair. Jack Robinson was nothing if not well-dressed and well-coiffed at all times while at City South Police Station. He looked at the stack of reports and files on his desk, all of which would have to wait until later because he had been summoned to the Victoria Police Commissioner’s office. He would likely have to work late, again. He would telephone Phyrne later and explain. Maybe he could put her to work on some of it. “Not likely,” he chastised himself. It was paperwork, not her strongest suit. People thought that catching criminals was all about action, but the reality was that it was all about paperwork. 

“Collins hold down the fort for a bit. I have to go down to the Commissioner’s Office. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“What’s up, Sir?” Collins inquired. 

“I don’t know, Collins. The request was a bit cryptic, but yet urgent. It didn’t sound like a case though.” 

“Well, I’m sure it’s important or they wouldn’t be in such a rush. I will keep things here under control.”

“I have no doubt, Collins. I probably won’t be that long.”

The Commissioner’s office was a moderate walk away at Russell Street Headquarters, and despite the relative urgency of the summons, Jack’s instincts told him a walk would be a good idea. He had no idea what the Commissioner could want, but in his experience as a street level copper, when upper management was interested in you, it was rarely good. Not that it was always bad, but it was still not usually good. A bit like going to the doctor.

He walked through downtown Melbourne nodding to people he knew, citizens and petty criminals alike. While he didn’t socialize with the criminal set, he didn’t dislike most of them as people, he just disliked that they couldn’t seem to comply with the law on a regular basis. One of the reasons he was Victoria Police’s top crime solver was that people would talk to him, even the ones he had to nick occasionally. 

Jack loved being a detective and every day presented new and interesting challenges. He was committed to keeping Melbourne safe but he didn’t need to act like a head cracker in the process. 

The Russell Street Headquarters was an imposing building and as he climbed the steps he remembered other times he had come here, even the time he came to give evidence against his former father-in-law, George Sanderson, in his police disciplinary hearings. Though Sanderson was also found guilty in criminal court, the police had had to protect its reputation by prosecuting the former Commissioner of Police for violating his oath of office when he covered up a child trafficking ring. It was a very distasteful memory and Jack quickly tried to dismiss it and replace it with the happy memory of climbing those stairs as a new recruit. 

“DI Robinson, for the Commissioner,” he said to the Constable at the reception desk. 

“Yes, sir. I am to send you right up.”

Jack climbed the stairs to the grand second floor office occupied by the Commissioner. 

“Commissioner how are you today?”, Jack asked as the Commissioner’s secretary ushered him into the opulent office. 

“Well, Jack, well. Nice to see you again,” Commissioner Blenheim responded affably. 

Jack didn’t know Commissioner Blenheim well. He had been brought in from Tasmania when George Sanderson had been sent to prison. He had been around for about a year. Jack was aware that Blenheim had started his career in Perth before moving up the ranks in Tasmania. There were always some coppers who preferred administration. Jack was grateful someone did because he certainly didn’t. And as long as you steered as clear as you could from their bureaucratic mania, life was pretty good at the neighbourhood station. 

“Jack, I hear great things about you. Great things, indeed. Top crime solver in the Victoria Police.” 

“So they say,” Jack replied. 

“I know we haven’t worked together much but I trust the old guard here in Melbourne and they tell me there is no one that they would rather have their back than you. Trustworthy, smart, always does the right thing.”

Jack hated being buttered up and looked down at his feet and turned his hat in his hands. 

“What can I do for you, Sir,” he asked.

“Take a seat, for one thing. You are making me nervous standing there like that.” The Commissioner pointed to a chair and took Jack’s hat and coat.

Jack sat down in one of the wooden chairs in front of the Commissioner’s large desk. 

“Jack, I want to talk to you about your future with Victoria Police,” Blenheim began.

“Am I being sacked?” Jack asked, eyebrows raised. Jack might be the top crime solver, but he had also rankled more than his share of senior executives in the police in his 16 year career. 

“No, of course not. Top crime solver, remember,” the Commissioner laughed.

He continued, “your name is being bandied around in senior management and at the Police Board for the next Deputy Commissioner when Foxton retires next year. What do you think about that?”

“It’s very flattering sir, but I’m not sure it’s my style.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Sir, as you say, I’m the top crime solver. But not the top crime paperwork completer. I would rather be out there on the beat, as it were, than stuck in here looking at labour contracts.”

“Hah! That’s what all street level coppers think happens up here. But it’s not like that at all. As Deputy Commissioner, you coordinate the big cases that need lots of manpower and special skills. You also get to work on major policy issues that can help those little people I hear you care about.”

“That sounds a bit better than paperwork,” Jack said somewhat suspiciously. “But how much time is doing that and how much is really just doing stats? Don’t forget, George Sanderson was my father in law for 16 years. I saw what his work was like. Long and boring hours away from family and away from real coppering.” 

“It’s a lot more money, too,” Blenheim said, hoping to entice Jack with the promotion.

“There is that. Even a DI salary is not that much,” Jack agreed. 

“Especially not now with the company you have been keeping,” the Commissioner said.

“What does that mean, Sir?” Jack frowned at the Commissioner.

“Well, it isn’t exactly a secret that you consort with the Honourable Phyrne Fisher with her high society friends and pots of money,” Blenheim replied with a somewhat dismissive wave of his hand. 

“I resent that, Sir,” Jack found himself replying, not sure if he was defending Phyrne or himself. 

“It wasn’t meant as an insult and I apologize for the tone. But don’t you think having a Deputy Commissioner or perhaps one day, Commissioner on her arm might be a bit more decorative than just a DI?” 

“Decorative, Sir?” Jack replied. He was really starting to get cross.

“What I mean is it would suit her social standing a bit more.”

“Sir, I am not sure I like where this is heading,” Jack said with a bit of an edge in his deep baritone. 

“Okay, Robinson, I’ll come clean. Yes, senior management and the Board want to promote you, but they are concerned about this relationship you have with Miss Fisher. It’s unseemly for a defender of morality to be seen going into a single woman’s home at night and leaving in the morning, if you get my meaning. And it isn’t as if you are trying to be discreet. You were seen together in a box at the theatre and your public display was not exactly, shall we say, platonic.”

“What? That we were seen in public arm in arm? It may be unseemly, but it is not illegal. I am not a morality officer, I am a law officer. So, while I can understand that some members of the Board may be clutching at their pearls, I don’t see it as a problem,” Jack replied angrily. He had anticipated a conversation like this ever since Phyrne had returned from England and they had started spending more nights together. Jack still had his own house and frequently spent nights there as well, but he wasn’t about to stop seeing Phyrne whenever he could just to prevent the Commissioner from getting the vapours. 

“Look, Jack, I understand. She is a gorgeous woman and from what I hear also very liberal-minded and intelligent. Who doesn’t want that in a partner? But you are a morality officer. How do we expect you to prosecute sexual offences when in the minds of some of the more prestigious members of the community you are also committing them?”

“But, I am not committing any offences. If I were a poet or an artist, no one would bat an eyelash.”

“But you are not a poet or artist. You are a sworn officer of the Victoria Police and one whom I want to promote to Deputy Commissioner next year.”

“What if I say no. Is it okay for a mere DI to spend time with the woman he loves?”

“Well…” the Commissioner looked sheepishly at his hands on the desk. “No. Actually. The Board is quite firm on this. It’s not just your status, it is Miss Fisher’s. She is too high profile. If it were someone less on the public stage, it might be different.” 

“I see. So, what are my options.”

“I would have thought you would have worked those out. Stop seeing Miss Fisher. Or marry her.”

Jack laughed out loud. “Marry her?” 

“What’s so funny about that? It’s a time honoured tradition for people in love.”

“Miss Fisher is not ‘people.’”

The two men looked at each other in silence for a while.

Jack spoke again. “There is one more option, isn’t there?”

The Commissioner nodded. 

“Top crime solver, too, eh?” Jack queried.

“It is not what I want. Take some time, Jack, and think it over. Take a couple of weeks. I can hold of the dogs for that long. Talk to her first.”

“I don’t need to talk to her, Commissioner. It is my career, not hers. Pass me that paper if you would?”

The Commissioner hesitated, so Jack reached over the desk and picked up a piece of official Victoria Police stationery. He reached into his breast pocket for his pen and as the Commissioner watched, he wrote “I, John Samuel Robinson, resign my position in the Victoria Police, effective immediately.” He signed it, took out his warrant card and placed it on top of the letter. 

“Thank you for the offer, Commissioner, but I have spent my life dancing to other people’s ideas of right and wrong. Now, I am going to dance to my own.” 

Jack got up and started to leave the office.

“Robinson,” the commissioner called frantically after him, “I am going to hang on to this for two weeks. I will place you on leave. Say the word and it never happened. But I can’t stop the Board from doing what it believes it has to do.” He paused then continued. “We need you DI Robinson. Melbourne needs you. Please keep that in mind.” 

Jack walked quickly down the hall and out the front door. His feelings were a mix of anger, relief, disgust, fear and excitement. He had never taken an action quite that rash in his life up to now. He wasn’t sure who he was if he wasn’t a DI, but it might not be so bad to find out.


	2. Philosophy on the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jane talk philosophy on the St. Kilda foreshore.

Jane Ross was walking along the St. Kilda foreshore thinking about her future. Since she had come back from her European finishing school, she and Phyrne had been looking at possible options for university. There was no doubt that Jane would get a degree, even though her early life might not have suggested it. But since Phyrne had rescued her from the Ballarat Train, she had leapt into academic pursuits with reckless abandon. She already had scholarship offers from University of Melbourne and Newnham College at Cambridge. She hadn’t told Phryne about either offer yet. She knew Phryne would insist on Cambridge but leaving the only family she had known for 4 years or more seemed like it would be too much to bear. 

She was supposed to be at the morgue where she was volunteering as an assistant to Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan, the Coroner and Phryne’s best friend. But she thought the fresh air was a better place to get her thoughts in order so she had begged off with a headache. 

As she walked along she thought she recognized a familiar figure in a fedora and great coat skipping stones ahead of her. The closer she got the more convinced she was that the man throwing stones into the surf was Jack Robinson, Phyrne’s friend and lover. 

‘It can’t be …’ she thought as she approached him. 

“Inspector Robinson?” Jane asked tentatively.

Jack had seen Jane coming for a few minutes. He had contemplated giving up his stone skipping and walking away but decided he would rather continue. Standing on the beach and throwing stones was something he had always done when he needed to get his feelings in order. His feelings hadn’t been quite as out of order as they were today for many years. Even falling in love with Phyrne hadn’t thrown him for as much of a loop as his sudden resignation from the police. 

“Good afternoon, Jane,” he replied. “What brings you to the foreshore?”

“Thinking about my future. And you?”

“Same thing.” They didn’t talk for a couple of minutes, both standing and looking into the surf. Jack broke the silence. “Can I interest you in an ice?”

“Inspector, you should know by now that you can always interest me in an ice.”

They walked silently to the ice cream vending van on the beach path and Jack purchased a vanilla cone for Jane and a chocolate one for himself. They sat down on one of the park benches and quietly licked their cones. Jack appreciated that Jane didn’t seem to feel the need to question him. Jane appreciated the same. 

Jane was the first to break the silence though. “So are you working on getting into the mind of a criminal stone skipper?” she quipped lightly.

Jack laughed and it broke the tension. Then he turned and, in all seriousness, looked squarely at Jane and spoke. 

“Tell me Jane, if you had to make a big decision between two things that you love more than anything in the world, how would you go about it?” Jack knew he was asking a 16 year old a question more suited to a rabbi or a priest, but he trusted Jane’s inherent wisdom and he cared about her opinion as someone who was very nearly a member of his family now. 

“Well, Inspector, the first thing I would do is to challenge that there is a need to make a choice at all. Have you fallen into a false dichotomy?” Jane replied.

“I knew you were a good person to ask. Perhaps I have.”

“I would also question whether there were only two choices. Perhaps there are other choices which would allow you to keep the things you love while making a different choice entirely.”

“Where have you obtained so much wisdom at your age, Jane?” Jack said with true admiration in his voice and his face. 

“From you, Inspector. And I read a lot of Aristotle.”

Jack laughed again. “Never doubt that the Greeks will have an answer to everything,” he said.

“If you don’t mind, can I make a deduction?” Jane asked.

Jack waved his hand to give his consent.

“You have been asked to choose between the police and Miss Phyrne.”

“Very astute. Perhaps you need to consider a career as a detective after university.”

“Actually, I am thinking more of psychiatry. But frankly, it was only a matter of time. I have lived with Miss Phyrne long enough to know that she rubs certain society feathers the wrong way. As much as I know you love each other, it was inevitable that people would leap at the chance to judge you.”

“Being judged is a new feeling for me,” Jack said, “as a white, English speaking police man, most people look up to me, not down at me.”

“Well, I can tell you what that’s like. As a poor kid with no family, I have been looked down on by almost everyone I have ever met except you and Miss Phryne and her family. She takes in strays like me, Dot, Bert and Cec and makes us respect ourselves.” 

“Maybe I’m one of her strays, too,” Jack replied.

“No, Inspector, you are one of her challenges. Her mystery.”

Jack laughed again and repeated himself, “how did you get to be so insightful?” 

“I studied at the feet of the masters. You and Miss Phyrne.” 

“So, do you have any advice for me?” Jack asked.

“Do what makes you happy Inspector. Not what anyone else thinks ought to make you happy.”

“Now tell me what you are thinking about your future?” Jack looked seriously at Jane.

“Can I do that another time? I want to think about it some more before I ask for advice. But let me say that this conversation has been helpful. I need to consult Aristotle myself.”

“I understand.”

“But I will take you up on your offer, Inspector. Apart from Miss Phyrne, there is no one I trust more.”

“I am rather chuffed to hear you say that, Jane.”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh. They stood up and started walking back along the foreshore. 

“Are you going to tell her?” Jane asked?

“Eventually, but I think I will head off and make it look like I am walking home from the station for now. I should also talk to Collins. Don’t tell her you saw me fecklessly throwing stones on the beach?” Jack requested.

“If you don’t tell her you saw me here instead of swotting at the morgue.” She replied.

Jack held out his hand and they shook on it. He turned off back towards the station and Jane carried on towards Wardlow. 

When Jack got back to the station, he saw that Constable Collins was looking more than a little flustered. “Where have you been, Sir? I called the Commissioner’s office and they said you had left hours ago? We have been up to our eyeballs here. The Fitzroy boys have been smashing up the Flora tavern and Lizard Elsie is in the cells again for drunk and disorderly.”

“Sorry, Collins. I wish I could help, but you should be getting a new DI tomorrow.”

Collins gaped. “A new DI? What are you talking about?”

“Please keep this confidential, even from Mrs. Collins for a few days, if you don’t mind.”

“Sir?” Collins was looking even more alarmed.

“I have resigned from the police.”

Constable Collins fell backwards into his chair. He was sure he must have heard wrong. If anything was a constant in the Victoria Police, or at least at City South it was DI Robinson. He had been on the job for 16 years. He was well-respected if not actually loved by some of the other officers. He was touted for Commissioner one day. If Jack Robinson was resigning, nothing was stable. 

“Why, Sir?”, Collins was finally able to gasp after about a minute of simply staring with his mouth open. 

“Pull yourself together, Collins. It isn’t the end of the world.”

“Not your world, Sir, but it is surely the end of City South.”

“Hardly, Collins. I am ... was … simply one DI in a roster of many current and future DI’s. City South will manage perfectly well without me. The cemetery is full of men who people thought were indispensable.” 

“Why, Sir? Was that why the Commissioner called you? Were you sacked?” Collins was still having trouble grasping the situation and his facial expression resembled a gasping fish. 

“No, Collins. The Commissioner gave me a choice, marry Miss Fisher or leave her. I decided to take the third option, resignation.”

“But Sir, why not just marry Miss Fisher? You love her, don’t you?”

“Yes, Collins, I do, no pun intended. However, I don’t believe that my marital status is any business of the Police Board.” 

“But if you love her, then marriage is the logical step. Why give up your career, Sir?” Collins had finally stopped hyperventilating. 

Jack looked over at his constable and friend. He remembered a time when his view of life was as simple and conventional. If you loved someone then you married them. Preferably before you started having sex with them, but not always. You married them, you had children, you settled down and you had a successful and stable career. He had once wanted that, even planned it all out with Rosie Sanderson. But those days were long gone. 

“Collins, I fought in a war that was said to be to protect our freedom. Well, I wish to express my freedom to choose an unconventional relationship with an unconventional woman. However, it appears that despite my war wounds, I am not to be allowed to have that freedom and remain as a police inspector. So, I have chosen to leave the police. It is, as I said, not the end of the world. To be honest, it feels rather liberating.” 

“I’m not sure that I see it that way, yet. But Miss Fisher is certainly one of a kind.” 

“Collins, you promised not to share this with Mrs. Collins until I have had a chance to talk to Miss Fisher.”

“Yes, Sir, of course. My lips are sealed.”

“Thank you, Collins. I trust that we will remain friends, despite not being colleagues here at City South.”

“I certainly want that, Sir.” 

“Then you might as well call me Jack, everyone else does.” 

Jack walked into the office he had occupied for some years and took stock of the few personal items he had left there. He took his biscuit tin, his family photographs, a few books on forensics and his file of Phyrne’s mugshots and put them into a box he found in the supply room. He sat behind his desk and remembered, fondly, the times Miss Fisher had sat on it, teasing him. He picked up the phone and called Wardlow. Mr. Butler answered on the second ring.

“Mr. Butler?”

“Inspector?”

“Is Miss Fisher in?”

“No, Inspector, she is out at a meeting of the Women Adventuresses Club. I expect her for dinner around 7. Will you be joining us?”

“No, Mr. Butler, I will be dining at my house tonight. Please pass my regrets to Miss Fisher and let her know I will come around sometime tomorrow.” 

“Certainly, Inspector. Have a pleasant evening.” Mr. Butler rang off. 

Jack planned to take his possessions home and spend the evening thinking about what it would mean to wake up the next day unemployed. 

When Phryne arrived home around 5:30, she was disappointed not to see Jack and share a cocktail and perhaps something more. She moved from disappointed to cross when she learned that he wasn’t planning to be there for dinner and contemplated driving over to his house to roust him in person. But she decided that if she wanted to retain her own independence, she need to respect his, even when it was damned inconvenient.


	3. Fisher and Robinson is Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fisher and Robinson get their first case.

Jack woke up the next morning at 6 on the dot, as he had done every day since he came home from the war. His schedule had rarely varied before he had met Miss Fisher. Up at six, breakfast of two boiled eggs and toast, at City South before 8 am to read the overnight reports. Only today there would be no overnight reports to review. If he had been at Phryne’s, she would have given him good reason to stay abed all day. At home, there was less pleasure in lying about. So he roused himself and decided it was a perfect day for a long, early morning bike ride while the air was still cool and comfortable. That was one pleasure that he had been unable to take advantage of since starting his relationship with Miss Fisher. Given the options of a bike ride and a morning in her boudoir, the choice was obvious. But today, it would be the ideal way to clear his head. Nothing like a long ride to create the kind of mental zen that allowed the creative juices to flow. 

As he rode out of Melbourne into the suburbs, he thought about the reasons he liked being a police detective. There was the sense of giving something to the community by keeping people safe and collaring criminals. He had always enjoyed the sense of order that came with belonging to a para-military organization. But what he really liked about being a detective was solving riddles and puzzles – making connections that no one else saw. It was what he liked so much about Phyrne. She had an amazing knack for making links and seeing details. He would never admit it to her, but he had learned things from her techniques. Especially from her willingness to use unconventional methods in her practice. 

The more he thought about what he liked about detective work and what he liked about Miss Fisher, the obvious solution to his problems presented itself. Why not become a private detective? On the con side, and there were a lot of cons, the income would be quite unstable and possibly quite low, and he had no interest in seedy divorce work though he knew that could be quite a lot of what PI’s did to make ends meet. But on the pro side, he could work with Miss Fisher and take advantage of the unconventional methods that were only available to those not wearing a badge. He could choose his own cases and his own clients. “Robinson and Fisher, Consulting Detectives,” he said out loud. “It has a nice ring.” 

His phone was ringing as he arrived home and put his bike back into the shed. “Phryne waiting to scold me for not coming over last night,” he said to himself, but when he picked up, it was his old friend Simon Gates. 

“Gates? Nice to hear from you, it’s been some time.” Jack held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabbed his foot from behind into a hurdler position and stretched his legs from the long ride. 

“Robbo, I called you at the police station but they said you weren’t in today. Not sick, I hope?”

“Nope, right as rain. Just got in from a 60 mile ride. Thankfully, I’m not as out of shape as I feared.” 

“60 miles, eh? Maybe we should enter you into the Melbourne 100 km race next week.”

“Only if you have a category for the elderly,” Jack laughed. “What can I do for you, Simon?”

“Lunch at my club, if you can spare the time. I have a situation that I need your advice about.”

“Lunch it is. See you there.”

Jack had lunched at the University Men’s Club on a few other occasions when meeting with senior officers, but he rarely ate lunch out at all. Most days he had a homemade lunch at his desk both because of the cost and the time. Having a leisurely lunch at the club felt simultaneously decadent and naughty. Simon was also a pleasant companion. They had met as young bike racers in the years before the war. Both had nursed dreams of riding in the Tour de France but neither probably had the skills if they were willing to admit the truth to themselves. However, the war had intervened for both of them. Simon had remained involved in the world of cycling after coming home, but Jack had left racing behind for his career in the police. Simon had the advantage of being a university educated engineer and having the money and time to put the hours in on the bike. 

As they sipped their post luncheon port, Jack turned the conversation to the request Simon had made in the earlier phone call. 

“So what situation do you need my advice about?”

“It grieves me to admit this but I am quite worried about possible race fixing in the Melbourne 100 km race. I am not sure whether to go to the police about it or not.”

“Well, if you are thinking about the police you have come to the wrong place. I have just resigned. However, if you need a detective, I might be able to help. I am thinking of starting a private agency.”

“Really? You leave the police? But you love the police.”

“It’s rather a long story, perhaps for another luncheon. Suffice for now, the police don’t love me as much as I love someone else.”

“Your Miss Fisher. Well, your relationship with her is rather the talk of the town. Rich socialite, poor police detective. It’s good fodder for the cocktail set. So the bastards made you resign?” 

“Something like that. But let’s talk about your case. Why do you think there is race fixing going on?”

“Some of the chatter among the betting circles. There are bets taking place that suggest that the heavy favourite, Rory Fenshaw, is planning to throw the race. It’s hard to believe because Fenshaw is very competitive and has a contract to race in Europe right after the race. Throwing a race or even just losing it would not help his career.” 

“So why do you think he might do it?”

“Pressure, debts, pregnant girlfriend? Why does anyone turn to fraud? Still, I’m finding it troubling and I need someone to investigate. But that’s not all.”

“Yes,” Jack sat up.

“I also think that there is doping going on.”

“Ah, the scourge of the sport. But doping is not illegal, technically. I mean using some of the drugs can be an offence, but it it’s not illegal in cycling to enhance performance with chemical substances. It should be, but it isn’t.”

“I know that,” Gates replied, testily. “But it is bad for the racers and against the Victoria Cycling Union policy. If you lose the VCU membership, then you can’t register as a racer. Unfortunately, I think some of the lads are flying close to the wind.” 

“So what do you want me to do?” Jack asked.

“I need you to get close to the racers and sponsors and see what you can find out.”

“Besides Fenshaw, who do you think might know something? 

“Fenshaw’s best pal is a lad called Robby Carter. He may have some inside information. Rory also has a girl called Julia Morrison. She is a clever one and goes to Melbourne University. But for the race fixing, my money is on Jeff Dunbar. He is one of the sponsors of M100 and a rich bastard. He fancies himself a racer, too, but he gets dropped every time. All money and no style.”

“I will start asking around and see what I can find out.”

“One good place to talk to people on the money side is to join the Melbourne Tandem Club. You can bring Miss Fisher along too. We ride every Saturday and there is a tandem race the week before the M100. The members are race fans, sponsors and supporters. Some are also involved in some of the betting.”

“Really,” Jack queried, “tandem clubs seem the place for parasols not pari-mutuels.” 

“You would be surprised at what the old ladies can get up to,” Gates replied with a laugh. 

Jack smiled to himself as he imagined Phyrne on a tandem bicycle. Her competitive spirit would be piqued, but he wasn’t sure she would be all that keen to ride on the back of anything, except possibly a galloping horse. 

“Sounds like fun. Where can I get my hands on a tandem bike?”

“We have a couple here at the club for loaning out to members. Come with me down to the bike shed and I will fit you up.”


	4. Give Me Your Answer True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finally tells Phyrne about his resignation and they take a turn around the foreshore on their tandem bike as he gets her up to speed on their first case as Robinson and Fisher, Consulting Detectives

“Phryne, Phryne, give me your answer true, I’m half-crazy all for the love of you.” Jack sang from the front garden of Wardlow. 

Phyrne stepped out the front door onto the verandah and replied, frowning and smiling at the same time. “I believe the second verse goes, “you’re half-crazy, if you think that will do. What on earth is that and why is it in my front garden?”

“Oh, come on, Miss Fisher, it will be fun.”

“Says you.”

Jack was standing on the sidewalk in front of Wardlow with a tandem bicycle. “How is it that the woman who flies planes and drives fast cars, doesn’t like cycling?”

“I have nothing against cycling. I have lots against riding on the back of bicycle where I can see nothing but the back of someone else’s head.”

“What if it would help in an important investigation?” 

“What investigation?” Phryne’s ears perked up.

“Robinson and Fisher Consulting Detectives have been hired to look into allegations of race fixing in the Melbourne 100 km Classic.”

“Well, they don’t ride tandems in that race,” Miss Fisher said dismissively. She then did a double take. She looked straight at Jack with her hands on her hips. “Robinson and Fisher, what?”

“No, Miss Fisher, they don’t, but the race sponsor and his wife love their tandem rides, and I am hoping we might infiltrate the Melbourne Tandem Bicycle Club to get some information.”

“Stop, Jack, go back. Robinson and Fisher, what?”

“Consulting detectives.”

“You mean Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the Victoria Police, don’t you?”

“No, I mean Robinson and Fisher, Consulting Detectives. This is not exactly how I planned to break the news, but I suppose it’s as good as any. I resigned from the police yesterday.” 

Phryne sat down on the front step of her house and stared at Jack. “You did what?”

“Resigned.”

“Why?”

“Because the Commissioner’s sense of moral convention and mine failed to align.”

“You mean he ordered you to end your relationship with me.”

“Something like that.”

Phryne leapt up to her feet angrily. “That’s my Aunt Prudence’s meddling. Well, I am a grown woman and I can do what I want. I am going over there right now.” She turned to head inside and get her coat and hat.

Jack called after her, “don’t Phyrne. This isn’t about you. It was my decision. The options were leave you or marry you. I didn’t want to do either. So, I chose option three, resign. I am actually surprised at how liberating it felt.”

Phryne turned back to face Jack. “You didn’t want to marry me?” She was surprised at how that statement made her stomach lurch. She had always said she wasn’t the marrying sort, but it was another matter for Jack to say it. 

“That didn’t come out quite the way I wanted it. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me. But somehow our relationship is beyond the conventions of a marriage. Plus, I didn’t want you to have to marry me just for me to keep my job.” 

“I would have done it. You know, married you, if you have asked me to.”

“I suppose I knew that, but I don’t want us to get married because we have to conform to someone else’s rules. I want us to have the relationship that we want because we want it. Truthfully, I don’t think marriage enters into it.”

Phryne stood on the front step contemplating Jack and thinking about what he had just said. In every other relationship she was the one giving some variation of that speech. She had always said she wasn’t ever going to commit herself into a relationship with a man. Well that bridge had been crossed, but Jack was right. Marriage was both too big and too small for what they had together. It was a convention that would suit others but not them. She smiled. 

“So your alternative plan is to take over my detective agency?” 

“More of a merger.”

“Fisher and Robinson?”

“Robinson and Fisher.”

“We may have to arm wrestle for it.”

“I will start training.” Jack gave Phryne his sardonic smile. 

“So then tell me about this case that will require me to get onto that damnable contraption.”

“Mount up and I shall give you all the details as we cruise along the foreshore.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose I can consider it. I shall have to change my clothes first, though.”

“Of course you will.” Jack rolled his eyes gently. “I will have some tea with Mr. Butler while you do that. We need to practice a bit before we try and fit into the tandem club as aficionados of the sport.”

Phryne hadn’t ridden a bicycle since the war and then she had worn a uniform. She wasn’t especially enamoured with the idea of riding a tandem or any bike, but she was pleased that Jack wanted her along on the investigation and she thought the opportunity to spend time with him pleasantly riding around Melbourne wasn’t the worst thing way to spend some time. She hadn’t had any new cases in a while and was feeling at a bit of a loose end.  


When she arrived downstairs again, she was dressed in her sailor dress with a pair of her flatter pumps and a tam pulled firmly over her short black hair. “I think this will do,” she announced her arrival at the door. 

“Charmingly, I think,” Jack replied. He loved her in that dress. Well, in any dress, really. Or trousers. “Head in the game, Robinson”, he admonished himself.

Neither of them had actually ridden a tandem bike before. Jack was an accomplished cyclist, having done a bit of racing himself as a young police cadet. Phryne’s natural athleticism was an asset to doing anything physical. However, riding a tandem took a bit more coordination and cooperation than they were used to. 

“Jack are you trying to kill me?” Phyrne exclaimed as they nearly fell over for about the fourth time. 

“If you would quit wiggling so much and trying to steer, it would be a lot simpler.” Jack growled back. 

“I don’t see why I can’t go on the front,” she complained.

“Because it is designed for the person with the longer legs to go on the front,” Jack replied.

“Yet another design for men’s interests only.”

“Yes, Miss Fisher, part of the conspiracy. Look, this can’t be that hard. I have ridden bikes with weights on the back before. They just didn’t wiggle as much as you.”

“I am not wiggling Jack, I am trying to stay upright. And stop comparing me with a sack of groceries.”

“I wouldn’t compare you with a sack of groceries, Miss Fisher, since a sack of groceries is considerably more compliant than you are. Now, here is a lesson on the physics of bikes. If you get them moving, they stay upright without having to wiggle. Let’s try again. Right foot on the ground. Left foot on the peddle. And… push…” 

They were finally in motion, a bit wobbly, but actually moving. 

“Whee! Okay, I get it now,” she said, “this is kind of fun. Except for the part where I can only see the back of your head, though you do have the most charming little curls at the back of your neck.” She blew on the back of his head.

That caused Jack to wiggle slightly and the bike to yaw on the foreshore path.

“Cut that out Miss Fisher or we will crash the bike.”

“Steady on Captain,” Phryne giggled. 

They rode along the beach for an hour or so until they found a stand selling ice cream and stopped for a rest. 

“Tell me more about this case,” Phyrne said between licks of vanilla. 

Jack had been having trouble concentrating from watching her lick her ice cream cone in an unnecessarily seductive way. “Head in the game, Robinson,” he checked himself for the second time that day.

“My old friend Simon Gates is worried about some anonymous reports of illegal betting on the Melbourne 100 km Race that suggest that the favourite, Rory Fenshaw, has been asked to lose,” the Inspector began. 

“Illegal betting is a matter for the vice squad, isn’t’ it?” Phyrne asked. 

“Ordinarily, but Simon thought I would be the better choice to lead the investigation due to my experience around bike racing.”

“You were a bike racer?” Phyrne looked at Jack inquisitively.

“Just an amateur, when I was a police cadet. But I raced in the Melbourne 100 km Race. Finished top 20, which wasn’t bad for someone who didn’t race full time.” 

“Is race fixing common in cycling?”

“Not as common as doping. Unfortunately, racers have been known to use some fairly dangerous drugs to get an advantage on the other riders. That’s one reason I decided not to continue in the sport.”

“People will do dreadful things for advantage in sport. I never really understood it.”

“Well, Miss Fisher, there is nothing quite like the adrenalin rush from a long hard ride followed by the adoration of the crowd at the podium.” 

“I have nothing against long hard rides, Jack,” she said salaciously, “but only need the adoration of one person at a time for my rush.”

Jack slowly closed and opened his eyes while looking a Phryne, “yes, well, it takes all kinds, I guess.”

Phryne looked at him squarely and said, “lucky for me.”

They got the bike set up to ride home and as they pushed off, Phyrne exclaimed, “ouch” and put her feet back down on the ground.

“Miss Fisher?”

“I guess I haven’t ridden for a rather long time,” Phyrne said, wincing.

Jack looked at her questioningly.

“My … well… more delicate anatomy is … well … not very happy.”

Jack laughed. “Perhaps we have ridden a bit too far for the first day. It does get better after a few more rides.”

Phyrne pouted. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that. I don’t relish callouses in those tender places.”

Jack laughed again. “We can get Mr. Butler to bring the car around and I can ride the bike home on my own, if you prefer.”

Never one to turn down a challenge, Phyrne insisted on riding home, but she was grateful that he couldn’t see the expressions on her face as the chafing between her legs increased with each pedal stroke. 

As she stepped off the bike and limped into the house, she said to him, “I would ask you to stay the night, but I will be sitting in a bath of Epsom salts until my next birthday.” 

Jack laughed sympathetically, “I’ll be back tomorrow for another practice ride, then we join the Tandem Club on Sunday for their picnic ride and race.”

Jack rode off and Phyrne walked carefully up the stairs and asked Dot to draw a bath and find the tea tree oil. “The things I do for that man,” she said to herself. 

Phryne retired to her bathroom, one of her favourite retreats. She had installed a very large marble tub when she had purchased Wardlow and had had the room painted in her favourite seaside colours. Dot had drawn a nice soothing bath scented with chestnut flowers and Phryne sank deep into the warmth with only a small amount of wincing as the chafed skin met the water. Dot had wisely recommended that Mr. Butler send up the bottle of cognac as well and she picked up the glass on the tray beside the tub and drank deeply of the soothing libation.

As she relaxed, she pondered what Jack had said. He was right that his decision to leave the Victoria Police really wasn’t about her. She was quite proud of her staid inspector that he had decided that rather than take the traditional path and conform to a standard most people believed appropriate, he would take the ‘road less travelled’ and stand up for the right of consenting adults to privacy. Yet, she felt that she couldn’t sit idle and let an insult to the man she loved go unanswered. She didn’t care that the Commissioner thought she was a loose woman. She had money and status that would always protect her. But Jack had been placed into a situation where he was asked to give up everything he had worked for. That was unacceptable. Even if Jack was happy with his decision, Phryne believed that there was still a principle of justice that needed to be defended. It was not fair that the rich and powerful could do what they wanted while the poor and noble were the only ones required to conform to arbitrary standards. She needed a plan to take on Aunt Prudence and Commissioner Blenheim. 

As she dried herself off she found that the softness of her towels was insufficient to prevent her sore spots from reasserting themselves which just made her more cross and more determined to change the social mores of 1929 Melbourne.


	5. The Victoria Cycling Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first murder

The next day, when Jack returned for their next practice ride, she presented herself at the front door in a charming summer frock. As he waited for her to come down the steps, she suddenly flipped her skirt up over her head to show him what was underneath. 

Jack blinked and then laughed. She had found some men’s woolen cycling shorts lined with chamois leather and was wearing them underneath her dress. “I am hoping that these will help. You could have suggested them yesterday.”

Jack said, “I didn’t even think of it, but you are right, they will help. And I can’t say I have ever seen them look better on anyone.” 

Jack himself was not dressed in his usual grey three-piece suit but in a nice pair of brown linen trousers with an open collared shirt and a matching brown v-neck sweater. “You look rather nice yourself, Jack,” Phyrne replied. While she loved his suits, she enjoyed seeing him dress down on occasion.

Jack continued, “Today, I want to ride out to the cycling club and take a look around. Maybe there will be some evidence there that will help us with our investigation. “But it is a little bit of a longer ride.”

“Tally ho”, Phryne said gamely. “Dot is laying in a stock of witch hazel poultices as we speak.” 

The Victorian Cyclists Union was an old and venerable institution in the city. The clubhouse and training track were located in a leafy suburb of Melbourne. 

When they arrived at the club house, they saw some motor cars parked in the lot but no people. When they inquired of the young man sitting in the club room, he told them that there was a group training ride that day and everyone was gone but him. He pointed to his shoulder, “broke my clavicle last month. Still on the mend. I’m riding in the 100 and I want to make sure that I don’t risk hurting it by training too much.” 

Jack nodded solicitously. “Broken collar bones are a common injury for cyclists,” he said to Phyrne. 

Phryne asked the young man if he was a professional racer. 

“Yes, Miss. I want to be, any rate. I hope to ride in the Tour de France one day.”

“Phyrne Fisher”, she said holding her hand out.”

“Robby Carter”, he replied shaking her hand firmly. Jack recalled Robby Carter being mentioned by Simon Gates as a friend of Rory Fenshaw.

“So, tell me Robby,” she said, “what does it take to get to the Tour?”

“Hard work, Miss. And talent.”

“What does talent look like in cycling?”

“Well, you have to have good legs and good lungs to start with. If you don’t have that, talent won’t help. Then you have to have good tactics like knowing when to attack on the road. And you have to be fearless when you ride in a group of cyclists, especially going fast downhill.” 

“So, it’s a mind game as well as about speed.”

“Absolutely, miss.”

“So what kinds of things can mess with your mind, when you are on the bike?”

Jack jumped in, “cycling is about suffering, Miss Fisher. Those who enjoy the suffering of sore legs and fatigue do well. Those who don’t sometimes turn to other methods to overcome the suffering.”

“Well, I for one, do not enjoy suffering. Tell me, Mr. Carter, what are the good methods to avoid it, besides just not getting on a bike in the first place.” She shot a look over at Jack who shook his head. Despite wearing the wool cycling shorts, Phryne was feeling the chafing again, though it was a bit less than the first day.

“Well, Miss,” Robby replied, “this is the part I don’t like. Some racers take drugs like coca or cocaine as well as strychnine or heroin.”

“That’s pretty serious stuff. Even I can enjoy a bit of cocaine from time to time….”. She winked at Jack and he frowned back. “But lacing it with strychnine or heroin?” 

Simon said, “some people will do anything to win. But,” he added quickly, “no one at VCU.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure, Miss. Mr. Gates wouldn’t permit it.”

Jack told Phyrne, “Gates is the current president of the club and principal sponsor of the Melbourne 100 km Race. The other sponsor is Jeff Dunbar of Dunbar Rubber Products.” 

Phryne stood up and was reminded painfully of her chafing. “Mr. Carter, where can I find the ladies?”

“Through there, Miss.”

Phyrne went into the hallway that went through towards the locker room. 

After finishing tending to her sore spots and adjusting her shorts, she wandered towards the locker rooms with a view to seeing if there was anything that might help with the case. 

“Jack, I think you should see something,” she called out.

When Jack and Robby Carter entered the men’s lockers they saw what Phyrne had. A young man was lying prone on the floor and appeared to have choked on his own vomit. He was dead. 

“That’s Rory Fenshaw!” Carter cried.

“The great cycling hope?” Jack replied. 

“Yes, he was already signed for a team in Europe. He was leaving soon.” 

“How long ago did everyone leave on the group ride?” Jack asked.

“This morning, around 10?”

“It’s 1 pm now. How long was the ride?”

“About 80 km. They should be coming back within the hour.”

Phyrne was looking over the body. He was dressed in cycling clothes as if he had intended to join the ride.

“Was Fenshaw supposed to be riding with the group?” she asked.

“Actually, now that you say that, no, probably not. He didn’t like that kind of riding. He preferred to ride really hard on his own, rather than ride in the group,” Carter replied. 

“Did you know he was here?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I remember seeing him go into the lockers when everyone else was leaving. Then I saw him ride off on his own in the other direction from where the group went.” 

“Well obviously it wasn’t Fenshaw riding. We need to find his bike,” Phyrne said. “What kind of bike did he ride?”

Carter replied, “He had a blue Saxon. A real sharp looking bike.”

Jack said “I need to call the coroner and Constable Collins. Then let’s go look for that bike.”

After waiting for the police before they started looking for the bike the detectives watched Collins arrive with Dr. MacMillan in the police car. He looked at Jack and Phryne in their casual cycling clothes and then spotted the tandem bike. “I didn’t know you cycled, Miss Fisher.” 

“I didn’t either, Hugh,” she replied. “I never realized how dangerous and thrilling it could be.”

“Collins, Miss Fisher is assisting me with a private investigation. I know I am not your supervising officer any more, but I would suggest you start by searching the premises for anything that looks suspicious to the murder.”

“Yes, Sir.” Collins headed off to the locker room. 

After Dr. MacMillan had started examining the body, Jack and Phyrne speculated on the potential causes of Fenshaw’s death. 

“Do you really think that this could be related to the fraud, Jack?” she asked him. 

“Possibly. It is kind of suspicious that the best rider in Victoria is dead only two days after I was asked to investigate him in a race fixing matter.” 

“What do you think about the doping? Do you suppose Fenshaw was hoist by his own petard? Death by poisoning from doping?”

“Fenshaw wasn’t talked about in the doping circles but it’s certainly possible. And tragic. Cycling is a beautiful sport tainted by the presence of cheating,” he said wistfully.

Dr. MacMillan interrupted their musing. “Well, it definitely looks like he was poisoned, but I can’t say whether it was self-inflicted or not. I will have to let you know when I have had a chance to examine the body more closely. But I did find this.” She held up a phial and a syringe. 

Jack shook his head. “Tragic.”

As they stood in the office, the group riders began to arrive. 

“Collins,” Jack called – he was finding it hard not to continue to act like he was in charge of the investigation - “make sure no one goes into the locker room until Dr. Mac is finished.”

“Yes, Sir”, he replied. Turning to the riders he said, “You’ll have to wait here for now.” 

“But we need to get showered and changed. We’ve been riding for four hours,” one of the young men said.

“I understand, sir, but this is a crime scene.”

“A crime scene. What do you mean?” 

“Rory Fenshaw was found dead in the locker room. We will need to question you all,” Jack intoned as he walked towards the group from the office. 

“Couldn’t have been us, we haven’t been here for four hours. When we left Rory was still alive. I remember because he was giving us stick about doing the group ride when he thought we should be training harder.”

“So you all saw Fenshaw alive before you left?”

“Yeah. I would say so.”

Phryne was listening and she joined the questioning. “Did all of you stay together for the whole ride?”

“Well, we dropped Dunbar, as we always do. He’s still on the road somewhere, probably arrive in about 15 minutes.”

“When did you drop him?”

“At the first townline sprint. About 10 kilometers out.” 

“So you haven’t seen him for about three and half hours?” Jack asked.

“About that. I don’t know why he rides with us, because that happens every time.”

“And you don’t sit up for him?” Jack said.

“Nah, he’s too slow for this. Just because he’s a rich bastard and can afford the best gear, don’t mean he’s up for the kind of riding we do.”

Jack turned to Phyrne, “cycling is one of those sports where money and gear can sometimes make a difference, but it is also very competitive.”

Turning to the ride leader, Jack said, “We will need names and contact information for all of you.” 

“This Mr. Dunbar, where can we find him,” Phyrne asked.

“That’s him now,” the ride leader pointed. 

Jack and Phyrne watched an older, but handsome and fit rider laboring up the drive at the VCU. 

“Mr. Dunbar”, Phyrne asked as he walked his bike over towards them.

“Aren’t you a sight for these exhausted eyes. Jeff Dunbar,” he held out his hand as he looked Phyrne up and down.

“Phryne Fisher,” she said shaking the offered hand and giving Dunbar as good as he gave. “This is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“Detective?” he said, “here to look for my missing legs?” he quipped.

“No Mr. Dunbar. And it’s former Detective Inspector,” he said, looking sideways at Phryne. She was also having trouble realizing his new role. “Unfortunately, I’m here investigating the death of Rory Fenshaw.”

Dunbar looked stunned. “Rory? When? How?”

“This afternoon, after your group left on their ride. We won’t know more until after the coroner has finished her report. Turning to the group. I will need to interview all of you. Please don’t plan to go anywhere until after I do.”


	6. Jack Gets the Phyrne Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phryne are questioning the witnesses to Rory Fenshaw's murder when Sergeant Crossley unceremoniously orders them away.

Jeff Dunbar was a good looking and fit gentleman in his mid-thirties. He was clearly tired and sweaty from his outing on the bike but he had an easy smile and was very attentive to Phyrne, much to Jack’s irritation. He had made no secret of looking her up and down and leering with a bit of smile. Phryne, used to taking advantage of these attentions moved languidly and responded to the leer with a wink.

Jack had commandeered the VCU board room for the interviews. Dunbar comfortably took the chair at the head of the table and said, “I’m the incoming president of the union.” 

“That’s as good a place to start as any,” Jack began. “What is your relationship to the VCU?”

“I have been a board member for 5 years and I am a sponsor of both the union and of Rory Fenshaw.”

“Isn’t that a kind of conflict of interest?” Phyrne followed up.

“In what way? Fenshaw’s racing career doesn’t conflict with anything that the VCU does.”

“Doesn’t the VCU license the riders? Isn’t it a problem that you sponsor a rider who the VCU might have to discipline over its policies?”

“What policies?”

Jack jumped back in, giving Phryne a look that suggested he was less than happy with her taking over his interview. “The anti-doping policies.”

“Fenshaw doesn’t dope, so the policies don’t apply,” Dunbar replied quickly and somewhat combatively. Phyrne felt sure he was lying. She responded back to him, “unfortunately he was found dead in his own vomit next to a syringe. I would suggest you might want to withhold judgement on the possibility of doping.”

“Fenshaw was clean and if you found him like that then I suggest you start looking for a murderer. He was religious about what he would and wouldn’t eat. He made the Food Reformers look like sissies.”

Jack continued on the same theme, “the spell of winning can cause a man to do stupid and dangerous things. I’m not just interested in doping. I have been told that there were rumours about Fenshaw being involved in race fixing. Fenshaw doesn’t sound like the most above-board character.”

“Look,” Dunbar responded, “Fenshaw wasn’t popular. He could be arrogant and he didn’t like working with the other riders. But he was gifted on the bike and he wasn’t about to blow his chances in Europe by doing stupid things like betting on himself in a race.”

“What about betting against himself?” Phyrne inquired.

“Is that what the rumour is,” Dunbar asked, “that Rory was going to throw the M100 race?”

“Yes,” Jack replied.

“Hmmm,” Dunbar looked thoughtful. “I doubt that he would do it, but he might lead on some of the punters to think that he would. He mentioned that he had been asked whether he might consider it. I never believed that he would. But maybe someone decided to take out their frustrations on him.” 

“Anyone in particular?” Phryne asked.

“Not off the top of my head. I would ask around some of the betting shops, though. Find out who’s making bets against the favourite. And come to think of it, Simon Gates, the current VCU president, doesn’t really know about it but Sarah Gates has a bit of a problem with gambling. We all try and keep it a secret to protect Simon, but it’s true.”

As they waited for their next interviewee, Phyrne offered that at the Tandem Club picnic, she would spend some time getting to know Sarah Gates.

Robby Carter was next on their list of interviewees. Neither of them thought that he had done it, given his reaction when the body was found, but he had more opportunity than anyone else around the VCU. 

Jack started the questioning. “So Carter, tell us about your relationship with Rory Fenshaw.”

“I have known him for several years. We both started training as bike racers when we were sixteen.”

“Were you friends?” Phryne asked.

“No. Rory was a difficult person to get along with. He wasn’t just competitive. All bike racers are. He couldn’t be satisfied with just winning. He had to totally humiliate the competition. He let you know all of your faults. Let’s just say he didn’t have many friends.”

“He was a handsome lad. What about girlfriends?”

“All the girls were after him. He did have a steady girl though, Julia Morrison.” Carter had a wistful look on his face as he answered. Phryne noted that for future consideration.

“Where can we find Miss Morrison?” Jack inquired. 

“She goes to Melbourne University,” Carter replied. “I think she lives with some other girls from Uni.”

Phyrne tried another tactic. “Would any of the people that Fenshaw irritated want to kill him?”

“Not that I can think of. I didn’t like the guy, but I never wanted to hurt him except in a race.” 

“If he was dead would your chances of winning Melbourne 100 km improve?”

“Of course they would, but I have great form this season and I have already beaten Fenshaw in a couple of classics. I had a good chance in the M100 and Fenshaw knew it. I didn’t need to kill him.”

“What about race fixing?” Jack asked. “Has there been any talk about Fenshaw or anyone else fixing the result?”

“There is always talk like that. It helps make the odds more interesting. If you are asking whether Fenshaw would throw the race, I suppose it’s possible. He did need money for his move to France. Even though he had Dunbar as a sponsor, it is still really expensive to race over there. The competition is stiffer there so you need better gear and you have to pay to live.” 

“We all saw the syringe beside Rory’s body,” Phyrne stated, “was he into doping?” 

“Not that I knew. He was a bit of a bear about what he would and wouldn’t eat. But he really loved winning. As I told you before, it wasn’t unheard of. I hadn’t heard Rory’s name associated with doping, but I wouldn’t be all that surprised.” 

“What about you? Were you into it?” Phyrne looked straight into Robby Carter’ eyes when she asked the question.

“I would be a fool to admit it to you if I was. Look, everyone who is serious about racing thinks about it and a few of us have sampled the wares, but I don’t like how it makes me feel physically or morally. So, no, I am not a doper and I doubt I will be anytime soon.” 

Jack leaned forward towards Carter and said, “You said ‘wares’ as if there were a market for the stuff. Who is the seller?”

Carter looked at his feet and twisted his hands together. “I am not a grass,” he said. “I don’t want to snitch on anyone.” 

“This is a murder investigation,” Jack said sternly.

“I appreciate that,” Carter replied. He paused again. Just as Carter was beginning to open his mouth to speak, Senior Sergeant Crossley walked into the room and looked around as if he was taking stock. Carter took the opportunity to clam up again.

“Robinson,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What are you doing?”

“Crossley,” Jack replied, acknowledging his former colleague. “I am interviewing the witnesses.”

“Not your job anymore, or so I have been told,” Crossley said. 

Sergeant Crossley was an old school copper. He had given up waiting to be promoted to Inspector. He had left school early and didn’t have the ‘book learning’ that all the senior cops were required to have these days. He didn’t hold much with modern methods of policing. He liked the tried and true. But he was trying to live up to the confidence that the Commissioner had placed in him when he gave him the temporary job of acting DI at City South. 

Crossley looked at Jack and Phyrne and said, “I will thank you to take your lovely lady friend and carry on enjoying your bike ride. I will take over here.”

Jack’s face reddened with the feeling of being unceremoniously brushed off. As he was about to mount a defense, Phyrne took him by the arm and led him away. As she did so, she smiled charmingly at Sergeant Crossley. “Of course, Sergeant, the investigation is all yours. We were just trying to preserve the scene until you could get here and prevent any important witnesses from leaving. We can see ourselves out.” 

She hurried Jack out the door before he could say anything. As they walked down the steps towards the tandem they had ridden out on, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “So now you know how it feels to have your perfectly good intentions questioned.” 

He looked at her and his mood lightened. “I suppose I do. And allow me to apologize for all the times I did that to you. How did you prevent yourself from bashing me in the nose?” 

“Oh, Inspector,” Phyrne flirted, “your nose is far too attractive to subject it to that.” She kissed him playfully on the tip of his nose and they both laughed.

“Besides,” she continued, “there is plenty of investigating to do away from here, like finding Rory Fenshaw’s bicycle.”


	7. What's Good For the Gander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Phyrne find the missing bike and more evidence pointing to the killer. Also a bit of smut.

As they rode away from the VCU, Jack thought about the two interviews he was able to do. “What did you think of Carter?” he asked Phyrne.

“Something didn’t seem quite right. I can’t put my finger on it, but it was as if he wasn’t quite lying but also not quite believable.”

“I thought so to,” Jack agreed. “My friend Simon Gates, who hired me, told me that Fenshaw and Carter were great mates. But Carter was not that complimentary and said he ‘didn’t like the guy’. Not exactly what you’d expect from a best friend.”

“Recent falling out, perhaps?” Phryne wondered. 

“Possibly. Or they put on a show for the VCU and sponsors?”

“Or your friend Gates is a bit dense about relationships and just thought they ought to be friends and so therefore they were. It sounded like he doesn’t know much about his own wife.”

“That’s possible, too. We do need to follow up on it.”

“Agreed,” Phryne replied. 

“Now, according to Robby Carter we are looking for a blue Saxon racing bike. If the murderer rode off on it, they might have tossed it into the woods anywhere along this road back to town.”

Phyrne asked Jack, “is this the only road?”

“Yes, though I suppose they might have tried riding through the woods. Keep your eye out for anything that looks like a trail.” 

“Do you think they would have ridden all the way back to Melbourne?” Phryne inquired after they had ridden for a few miles with no bike to show for it.

“Yes, anything is possible. Or they may have come out in a car and taken the bike with them that way.”

“Wait, Jack, what’s that?” Phyrne pointed into the woods just beyond the ditch on the left-hand side of the road.

“Good spotting.” Jack stopped the bike and they both got off. He walked over to inspect the bike that was not all that well hidden behind a bush along the side the of the road. “She’s a pretty one.”

Phryne realized quickly he was talking about the bike, not a woman in the woods. 

“Well, it isn’t damaged, so the murderer must have just ridden off on it and left it here.”

Phyrne climbed down the ditch and over to where the bike was found. She carefully looked around at the ground and branches. 

“Look at this Jack.” She pointed at some footprints in the dirt. Some were clearly from Jack’s size 11’s but there were some smaller fresh shoe prints. “Look at these small prints and see how they are over top of the bicycle tire marks. Those feet have to belong to a very small man or a woman.”

“And over here, on this bramble, there is a bit of cloth.” Phryne pulled a bit of torn fabric off a thorn. “The cyclist that was seen riding away, did Robby Carter say what they were wearing?” 

Jack replied, “No, I don’t think he did, but Fenshaw was in riding gear. If the rider had been wearing anything unusual, Carter might have said something. We may need to speak to him again.”

“Well, if by unusual, you mean a flowered frock, then I would say this is unusual.” Phryne held up the small bit of cloth and it was clearly from something flowery. 

Jack observed, “I wouldn’t’ have started off suspecting a woman, but based on this, I guess we are looking for a member of the fairer sex, at least as an accomplice if not the murderer.”

Phryne looked sternly at Jack and placed her arms akimbo on her hips. “It never ceases to amaze me the way that men dismiss women as murderers. We do, often, have plenty of good reason to want men dead.” Phyrne sounded a bit cross. 

“Of course, Miss Fisher, given my history with you, I ought never to let my guard down.”

Phyrne gave him a playful glare, then carried on looking at the site where they had found the bike. 

“Based on these prints and my shoes, I would say that this woman wears a size seven shoe. She put the bike in the woods and then walked out here, but the prints don’t continue on the verge. So either she walked along the tar macadam or she was picked up by someone in a car.” 

“Hitchhiking or a planned pick up?”

“Impossible to know at this stage. If you were still a police inspector, you could send out your constables to inquire if a woman was seen walking along the road. But I guess now we have to do that ourselves. There are a couple of houses nearby. You take one and I will take the other.”

About twenty minutes later, they met up again where the tandem and the racing bike were placed by the side of the road. 

“So,” Phryne asked Jack, “I hope you did better than me. My householders saw nothing along the road and were rather cross at being asked.”

“I did better, but the information was puzzling. George Feldman saw a woman go into the trees with a bike. She was dressed in cycling clothes but when she came back out she was in a dress and high heeled shoes. She did hitch hike and was picked up by a farm truck, but he didn’t see any name on the side.” 

“Well that sounds like our murderer. How do we find out who she is?”

“I don’t know, Miss Fisher. But let’s ride back and tell Collins what we know.”

“You have a lot to learn about this private investigator thing, Jack. Let’s not tell Collins or Crossley about what we know just yet. Let’s talk to both Robby Carter and some of the female cyclists around Melbourne first. Whoever it was knew how to dress like a rider and could ride a racing bike. She wasn’t your average woman. It had to be someone who knew Fenshaw and his habits. I also think we should talk to Julia Morrison. Didn’t Dunbar say that was Fenshaw’s girl? Let’s find her before Collins and Crossley do. Then we can tell them about the bike.” 

“Miss Fisher, you alarm me at how nefarious you can be.”

“Jack, if you are going to succeed at Fisher and Robinson, you are going to have to up your nefarious game.”

When they got back to Wardlow, Phyrne asked Dot to draw a nice hot bath. When Dot frowned, she said, “It’s better today, Dot, but still needs a bit of soothing.” 

Jack followed Phyrne upstairs to the bathroom so he couldn’t see Phyrne wincing at every step. “I didn’t think my muscles could out flank my tender bits for attention after a bike ride,” she said over her shoulder.

Jack replied apologetically, “I could help you with that.”

Phryne said, “Oh, I expect you to, Inspector, but not until I have gotten into that hot water.”

She took off her summer dress leaving her camisole and shorts. Jack came towards her to help her take her top off and she held up a hand warning him away. “Not until the hot water. Take care of your own clothes.”

Jack took off his sweather and shirt and got started on his trousers. He had to admit she had a point. Though he did ride regularly, he didn’t usually ride at that intensity without more of a warm up and he hadn’t realized how riding a tandem used your stomach muscles to stay upright. His usually strong abs were slightly achy. He looked at the hot water with some longing. 

By the time he was down to his smalls Phyrne was getting ready to step into the bath. She had her back to him and while he usually greatly admired the view of her alabaster behind, he was alarmed to see the red marks and chafing left by the saddle. “Oh, Phryne, I didn’t realize how bad it was.” She had not let him make love to her since the first ride because the soreness between her legs had dampened her enthusiasm dramatically.

“I suppose it probably looks as bad as it feels,” she said.

“I don’t know how it feels, but I can imagine.” He watched her lower herself gingerly into the bath and then sigh as the water started to relieve the irritation. 

“Come on then, and bring some of that tea tree bath oil,” she told him.

He quickly stripped off his smalls revealing his quickly receding erection. Seeing Phryne in pain which he had been partially responsible for was dampening his enthusiasm as well. 

Grabbing the bottle of bath oil, he stepped into the steaming water. Phryne directed him to sit behind her and he adjusted himself so her back was against him and his legs over hers. 

“Now, put some of that magic on your fingers and get to work,” Phryne directed as she leaned her head back onto his chest. He smiled as he realized what she was asking and his enthusiasm started to return.

He oiled his hands and then gently started rubbing them along the red marks on her inner thighs and labia. She moaned gently and rocked her head back and forth. He tried very hard to be gentle and soothing with the tips of his fingers massaging the healing into the skin. “I like the tea tree oil,” she said a little breathlessly, “because in addition to its healing benefits, it is mildly stimulating.”

Jack started to move his fingers closer to her clitoris and she moaned and wriggled a bit more. “Just what the doctor ordered,” she said softly. 

Usually, their lovemaking was fairly intense and athletic, but Jack was enjoying combining the act of soothing her with stimulating her. Rather than start rubbing more vigorously, he focused on gently stroking and tickling while he kissed her hair and whispered sexy sweet nothings. “More of that,” he said rubbing her clit, “or this,” curling his index finger inside her. “Or both,” he asked using his left hand on her clit and right in her vagina. 

“I love the feel of the inside of your cunt,” he teased, while Phryne moaned. “It is so tight and smooth and wet. It makes me hard just to think about being inside you. And I love your hard little clit and the way you throw your head back when I take it into my mouth.” Phryne’s wriggles were getting more vigorous and water was starting to splash on the floor. Jack’s erection was back and pressing into Phryne’s back each time she had another small spasm. 

“I especially like it when I have you in my mouth at the same time as you have me in yours. The way you tickle my head with your tongue before taking me all the way down your throat.” Jack was amazing himself with the smuttiness coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought these things for years, it was that he never dreamed of saying any of them out loud. But he was finding that the act of voicing his deepest sexual pleasures was almost as exciting as enacting them. 

Phryne started to moan more urgently crying, “Jack, please, please...”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jack said, trying to pick up the pace while remaining gentle on her sore skin. He started pumping his fingers in and out of her moist cunt and rubbing her clit faster. She arched her back hard against him, splashing water all over the floor and cried out as she came into his hands. 

As she breathlessly relaxed against his stomach and still hard cock, she said, “thank you doctor, I think I may be cured.” 

A moment later she observed, “this water is cold. Let me take you to bed before any shrinkage sets in. I may not want any more friction for today, but I feel that you could use some.”

She stood up and Jack marveled again at how beautiful she was, especially with water dripping from her nipples and the hair between her legs. 

She took his hand and pulled him up, drying them both off with a soft towel. Then leading him to her bed she laid him down with his head propped up so they could both look down at his hardness. “What was it you said you liked? Tickles with my tongue?” She touched the red tip of his cock with her tongue. Jack groaned and grabbed the headboard with his hands. “Taking you deep into my throat?” She drew his length into her mouth one inch at a time until she could feel his head against her tonsils. She gently drew her teeth along his length while coddling his balls in her hand. 

“You didn’t mention this,” she said as she came up for air and then took his balls into her mouth and hummed. He writhed.

“Or this,” she moistened a finger with her mouth and gently ticked the rim of his anus before carefully sliding it in to tickly his prostate. “My God, Miss Fisher,” he cried out and felt his erection grew harder, if that was even possible. 

Finally, she went back to holding the base of his penis in one hand while sliding her mouth up and down on the length. She could feel the tension rising as he prepared to come. As he started to release, she moved her mouth away so that she could see the white cum land on his abdomen. When he stopped panting, she winked at him and lapped it up off his stomach. “Protein for recovery,” she said and they both laughed.

She laid down beside him and pulled up the silk duvet. They were asleep in minutes.


	8. Phyrne Investigates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne starts her own investigation of the Commissioner of Police and she and Jack find out more about who's doping and who's betting.

The morning after finding Rory Fenshaw, Phyrne was off on her own investigation into the nature and character of Melbourne’s new police commissioner. She needed to know who she was dealing with if she was going to find a way to right the balance of fairness and justice for herself and Jack. All she knew about Commissioner Blenheim was that he had advanced quite quickly through the ranks. At 48 he was quite a young man for a role as senior as Commissioner of the Victoria Police. Her recollection of the news stories when he had arrived were that he had transferred from Perth to Hobart, Tasmania early in his career and he was married with two children. She remembered asking Jack about him and Jack’s response was typical of the street copper. As long as he stayed at headquarters and away from City South, he was okay with Jack. 

However, she did have a lead on her investigation. Her aunt was on the police board. Surely she could use her connections to Mrs. Prudence Stanley, upstanding citizen, to get close to the Blenheims. She also believed that Aunt P had been behind the pressure on the Commissioner. 

“Mr. B., bring out the Hispano. I am going out for the morning. Also ask Bert and Cec to drop by for lunch, I may have a job for them.”

Phyrne drove over to her aunt’s stately home and presented herself at the door. 

“Aunt Prudence!” Phyrne cried with more enthusiasm than she felt when her aunt opened at the first knock.

“Phyrne, my dear. How lovely to see you. To what do I owe the honour of a spontaneous visit?”

“Do I need a reason to visit my favourite aunt?” Phyrne said as she swept past Prudence Stanley into the older woman’s front parlour. She tossed her cloche and wrap on the hook as she passed by.

“Now I really know you aren’t here for a visit,” Aunt Prudence said testily.

“Oh Aunt P. You really need to stop being so suspicious,” Phyrne replied.

“Being suspicious of you has never set me wrong, Phyrne. What are you up to now?”

“Well, if you are going to be like that, then …” Phyrne pouted and flounced into a chair, crossing her legs. “I will get straight to the point. You sit on the Victoria Police Board, right?”

“Yes, I am quite proud to have that honour. I am the first woman to do so. I think I bring some proper social sensibility to the Board that the men may not always consider. Especially after that dirty business with the Magdalene laundry.” Prudence puffed up a bit as she said this. It was quite important to Mrs. Stanley that she be part of all the right boards and associations and that she be seen to be upholding the highest standards. 

“I am quite sure that you do, Aunt P and that Melbourne is all the better for it. I am just surprised that given my relationship to the police that you didn’t invite me to welcome the new Commissioner and especially his wife to Melbourne. They are from Hobart, aren’t they?”

“Actually, I believe they are from Perth, via Hobart. I understand that they were close friends with Dagmar and Charles Wilson from Perth and when they moved here, they have been moving in that set.” The Wilsons were in construction and Charles had become very wealthy from the road contracts he had from the government. 

“Well, I think I should have been part of the welcoming committee as well. You know that I have been working closely with the police, especially around the laundry case. I am surprised you didn’t include me.” Phyrne pouted again.

“Oh Phyrne, you know I am not 100% supportive of your detective work, nor frankly of your ‘close’ relationship to the police. And it wasn’t as if there was any sort of formal welcome from the Board. I believe I had a small luncheon including the Wilsons and the Marlborough’s.” 

“Nevertheless, I would like to meet them and offer my welcome to Melbourne as well. Even though it has been a few months, it hasn’t been so long as to be out of order. I want you to arrange an opportunity at which I can properly introduce myself to them.”

“I can probably arrange that. What about a small luncheon with Mrs. Blenheim and a few friends, here at my house?”

“Perfect! I will bring Dot and Mr. Butler to help with the serving and arrangements.” Phyrne stood up to leave.

“I am sure that won’t be necessary,” Aunt Prudence looked insulted by the proposal.

“Oh, it won’t be any trouble. They will be happy to help and Mr. Butler’s cocktails are to die for, as you know,” Phyrne responded as she breezed out of the house, cloche and wrap in hand. 

Prudence watched her niece go, pursing her lips and frowning. She muttered to herself, “I have a bad feeling about this.” She did disapprove of Phyrne’s frontal assault on the social rules in Melbourne but she also admired her niece’s strength of character and she couldn’t fault her commitment to justice. She just wondered why it always had to involve upsetting the apple cart. 

By the time Phyrne got back to Wardlow, the luncheon had been confirmed for the next week. 

For Phryne’s assembled reconnaissance team, Mr. Butler served a cold collation with some of Phyrne’s favourite salade rousse. The diners included Dot, Bert, Cec, Jane and Mr. B who she insisted join them to plan for the next steps in her plan.

“You may know by now that the Commissioner of Police has asked Jack to resign from the force because of his relationship with me.”

Bert grumbled, “you know I don’t have any truck with coppers, but he was one you could trust … most of the time.” Cec nodded in his usual taciturn way. Bert and Cec were well know red raggers and had had their share of run ins with the police, but they had begun to like Inspector Robinson as he had become a regular fixture at Wardlow. 

“Well, I think we need to take a bit of action on our own if we are going to continue on our quest for justice for the working classes, including working class coppers,” she said to Bert.

“That’s right, Miss Fisher,” Dot chimed in, “what happened to the Inspector just isn’t right.”

“Here is the plan. I am having lunch with Mrs. Blenheim and my Aunt Prudence next week. I have arranged that you and Mr. Butler will be helping the staff to serve the luncheon. I need you two to engage Mrs. Blenheim’s staff, likely her chauffeur, in conversation about life below stairs. No one is completely without secrets.” 

“Bert and Cec, I need you to start following the Commissioner around. Nothing obvious, just see where he goes after he leaves headquarters or on weekends and who with. Take my portable camera with you in case there is anything worth taking a picture of.”

“Now, Jane, were you able to find out where Julia Morrison lives?”

“Yes, Miss Phyrne. She lives in a student boarding house with some other girls near the Uni. She is a chemistry student in her third year.”

“Chemistry?” said Phryne, “that’s interesting. Get your hat, Jane, we are going to go and chat to Miss Morrison. Mr. Butler, can you telephone Inspect … I mean Mr. Robinson and tell him that’s where we are going? I will never get used to that new title. We really must get Jack his job back.” Although Phyrne was amused by the banter over whether the agency should be Fisher and Robinson or Robinson and Fisher, she actually dreaded the idea of the two of them running a business together. Jack needed to be a police inspector for both of their sanities. 

Twenty minutes later, Phryne and Jane had parked the Hispano outside the boarding house where Rory Fenshaw’s girlfriend lived and were knocking on the door with Jack who had met them there.

“Is Miss Morrison home,” Phryne asked the older woman who opened it. 

“No”, the woman replied. “She went out early this morning.”

“Would you happen to know where?” Phyrne inquired.

“Probably the laboratory. She said she had some examinations coming up.”

Phryne thanked her and asked Jane to navigate them over to the chemistry department on the University campus. 

When Jack, Phryne and Jane arrived at the chemistry building, they didn’t have to look hard for Julia Morrison. She was sitting on a bench out front with Robby Carter. 

“Miss Morrison?” Jack asked. “And Mr. Carter,” he added. 

“You’re the two detectives that were at the VCU,” Carter said.

“Yes.” Phyrne replied for both of them. “We have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, I do mind,” Julia Morrison said. “My boyfriend was just murdered. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Of course, Miss Morrison. We understand. But if we are going to find the killer then we need your help.” Jack was trying to use his police diplomacy to smooth things over, but he missed simply being able to order her down to the station.

“I already told the police everything. I can’t think of anyone who would want Rory dead.”

“Miss Morrison, where were you on the morning of Thursday?” Jack asked.

“You don’t think she did it, do you?” Carter asked with some edge in his voice.

“We need to eliminate people who are not suspects,” Phyrne said soothingly. 

“I was here at the lab.”

“Was anyone else here?”

“I’m not sure, some other students, maybe. I was concentrating on my experiments.”

“Do you cycle, Miss Morrison?”, Phyrne asked. 

“Yes. But women aren’t able to race so I only ride for myself and to have something to share with Rory.”

“So, you ride a racing bike?”

“I know how to ride a racing bike,” she replied, “but what does that have to do with anything?” Julia Morrison was getting testy again and looking to Robby Carter for help.

“Her boyfriend is dead and you are acting like she’s the suspect.” 

“You are right. Perhaps this is not a good time.” Jack turned to Phryne and Jane and indicated that they should leave the two young people on the bench. 

As they walked towards the car, Jack asked Jane to head back over to the chemistry building and see if she could discreetly follow Miss Morrison for the rest of the afternoon. “Jane looks like she belongs on campus, Miss Fisher, unlike us.” 

Back in the Hispano, Jack and Phyrne compared notes. “Rory Fenshaw appears to have died from an injected overdose of something but we won’t know more until after the autopsy. Miss Morrison is a chemist.” Phyrne added, “Fenshaw’s bike was ridden away from the scene by a woman who could ride a racing bike convincingly. But why would Julia want to kill Rory, her boyfriend?”

“Why do women ever kill their lovers?” Jack asked.

“Because they have been abused, cheated on or abandoned,” Phryne replied quickly and fiercely.

“I shall endeavour to avoid doing any of those things.”

Phyrne continued still glaring at Jack. “She was awfully friendly with Carter despite Carter and Fenshaw falling out. And we have heard that Fenshaw was attractive to all the girls.” 

Jack nodded and then said, “Why don’t you drop in on Collins. I know Sergeant Crossley doesn’t want me interfering in his case but perhaps you can talk Collins into letting you take a look at the file.”

“While you do that,” he continued, “I will find out what I can from some of the betting shops, especially our old friend Hector Chambers. In my new civilian capacity, he might be willing to talk to me.”

“Dinner at my place?” Phyrne asked.

“I am looking forward to it,” Jack reached around Phyrne’s waist and pulled her in for a kiss. 

“That was rather passionate for a public park, but I’m not complaining.”

“I might as well take advantage of my new found freedom to engage in public displays of affection.”

“Well now I’m looking forward to some private displays later tonight.”

“As am I, Miss Fisher, as am I.”

When the detectives and Jane regrouped at Wardlow for dinner, they all had useful information to share. But before comparing notes, they had tucked into Mr. Butler’s excellent consommé, steamed asparagus in hollandaise sauce and roast chicken. Of the many benefits of being Phyrne Fisher’s lover, Mr. Butler’s cooking was near the top. Jack had always had an insatiable appetite and Mr. Butler took pride in trying to fill him up. The group took their lemon cake along with their respective whiskey and tea in the parlour. 

Jack started with the results of his tour of betting shops. “Simon Gates was right. There had been some funny bets placed before Rory Fenshaw was killed. Fenshaw is the top seeded rider and has strong results for the last two seasons. Jeff Dunbar was bankrolling his jump to the European circuit. He was unlikely to lose. Except that Robby Carter has recently beaten Fenshaw in two big races. Carter is a strong rider, too, but hasn’t had the career that Fenshaw has had. There have been whispers about Carter doping. That places him back in the frame for injecting Fenshaw. The strange betting is that there are unusual odds on both Carter and a rider called Fabio Lorenz. Lorenz hasn’t won anything but he often places second and third. He is a strong sprinter. The odds are long on him winning, yet he has had some big bets placed on him. The most unusual and largest, £1,000 is by a person named J.K. Starley. It is clearly an alias.”

“Why do you say that, Jack?” Phyrne asked.

“John Kemp Starley is name of the inventor of the safety bike.”

“£1,000 is a large bet. Is the size normal for bike racing?”

“Racing does attract a lot of money, but that is a lot.”

“Did you see who Sarah Gates is betting on?” Phyrne asked.

“No, that’s the strange part. She isn’t betting on anyone as far as I can find out. Chambers did mention that she often does lay bets on cycling races, but he had not seen anything from her so far for the M100.

“Curious. If Jeff Dunbar is to be believed, she has a problem with gambling. Strange that she wouldn’t be betting on this race.”

Phyrne turned to Jane. “What did you find out?”

“I followed Julia and Robby when they went back up to the lab. It was hard to see without them noticing. She seemed very upset, too. She cried a lot and he tried to hug her, but she pushed him away.”

“Did she seem angry at him?” Phyrne asked.

“Not angry, anxious,” Jane corrected. “She also nearly fainted at one point and he had to get her some water.”

“Fainted?” Jack asked.

“She looked a bit green and Robby Carter helped her to a bench and got her a drink.”

Phyrne remarked, “she did look a bit pale but since we had never met her before I didn’t think anything about it. Abandoned, cheated on or abused.” She paused, “or dismissed summarily for being pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” said Jack.

“It would explain the fainting and paleness and probably some of the tears. Jane, add that to your list of things to follow up on if you can,” Phyrne directed.

Jane continued, “Although I couldn’t see, I could hear them talking from behind the door. Robby was asking Julia if she ever gave drugs to Rory. She said that she had and that he was pressuring her to improve the formula.” 

“So Fenshaw was doping,” Jack noted, “and Julia Morrison was the procurer of the drugs.”

“But he isn’t the only one,” Jane added. “Robby asked how many others she was supplying and she said a few, but I didn’t hear any of the names. She kept insisting that she didn’t want anyone to die, but that she needed the money to pay for her studies. He seemed to believe her that it wasn’t her fault.” 

“So just a tragic accident then?” Phyrne posited to the group.

“No,” said Jack, “remember there was someone seen riding away on Fenshaw’s bike. This wasn’t an accident.”

Jane jumped back into the discussion. “I talked to some of the other students and they confirmed that Julia was at the lab on Thursday morning. They were all working on experiments. They remembered her because she kept running out of the lab to the ladies.” 

“Good sleuthing, Jane,” said Jack. “So this means that it wasn’t Julia and we are now looking for a different woman for our cyclist.” 

Turning to Phryne, Jack said, “And what about your investigations, Miss Fisher?”

“Well, Constable Collins was not happy to smuggle the file to me, but he did decide he needed to attend very closely to the tea pot for a few minutes.” They all laughed.

“Still nothing from Mac’s autopsy which I believe is now scheduled for tomorrow. But there was more interesting information in Fenshaw’s bank account. Apparently, he had made a deposit of £500 a week before he was killed. His usual bank deposits were less than £20.”

“An advance from Dunbar?” Jack posited.

“Or an advance from whoever J.K. Starley is,” Jane responded. 

“Good thinking, Jane,” Phyrne noted, smiling at her ward. “But I still don’t understand why he would throw the race if he was going to advance his career in Europe. Do you think he might have been planning to double cross the bettor and was killed for that?”

“That’s an interesting theory,” Jack said. “We need to find out who J.K. Starley is. I will go back and see if I can’t get a list of who is placing bets and see if there are some names missing that should be there. That kind of alias likely points to a long-time lover of the sport.”

“So we are no further ahead,” Jane concluded. “We have several suspects. Julia Morrison, a chemist who knows how to make the cocktail that was injected into Fenshaw and who might be pregnant. A woman cyclist who disguised herself as Fenshaw to delay finding the body. Robby Carter who had the opportunity and didn’t like Fenshaw and whoever J.K. Starley is on the off chance that Fenshaw was planning to renege on the race fixing deal.”

“Actually, I think we are quite a bit further ahead,” Phyrne retorted. “We have some suspects rather than none. However, seeing as it is past 11 pm, it is time for bed.”

Jane rolled her eyes at Phryne and Jack. “Bed but not sleep?” 

“Jane!” Phyrne feigned shock, then laughed. She had never hidden her life choices from Jane, but she knew it could be a bit challenging for a sixteen year old to cope with her open affection for her lover. 

As Jane headed up the stairs to her bed, leaving Phyrne and Jack in the parlour, she reflected on the things she had learned at Wardlow. Jane had lived with Phyrne long enough for the shock of her relationships with men to have worn off. In fact, Jane was starting to think about young men with far more interest than she had in the past. Being around them sometimes caused her to fumble for words or feel a bit squidgy in her middle. She wished she had the confidence of Miss Phyrne but she felt embarrassed to ask her about it. Phryne had talked to her quite frankly about family planning but that was different than just knowing how to talk to a boy without blushing and mumbling. 

As they retired, Phyrne told Jack she was going to invite Jane to the M100 gala dance. “She has been to young people’s dances, but since she has been so much help on the case and is starting to grow up, I think it is time to introduce her to more grown up events.” 

“Good idea,” Jack replied before, catching Phyrne around the waist and pulling her down onto the bed. “I have some ideas for grown up events, myself.”


	9. Carter Confesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The police receive a written confession but the coroner's report confirms that it must be false.

Jack went down to breakfast before Phyrne was awake as was his usual custom. Although he was no longer working for the Victoria Police he didn’t think he would ever lose the habit of rising early. He also preferred to eat in the kitchen with Mr. Butler and often Bert and Cec would be there too. Phryne didn’t seem to mind her favourite cabbies dining at her expense. 

When he walked in he was pleased to see Constable Collins there as well. 

“Hugh,” he said, smiling, “isn’t Mrs. Collins feeding you?”

“Yes, I do feed him Inspector,” Dot said crossly from behind the door. “He’s just taking advantage of a chance at a second breakfast since he wanted to come over and talk to you.”

“It’s not Inspector anymore,” Hugh corrected his wife. Dot glared at him.

“What was it you wanted to talk about, Hugh?” Jack asked trying to deflect the potential for marital conflict.

“Right, Sir, I mean Jack, Sir. Robby Carter sent a letter to the station last night confessing to killing Rory Fenshaw.”

“A letter, Collins?”

“Yes. We have been looking for him all night but haven’t found him yet. But he signed the letter saying that he killed Fenshaw because he was tired of being beaten in the races.” 

“How did he say he had killed him?”

“He said that he doctored the phial of dope so that when Fenshaw injected himself he would die. He also said that he was the supplier of the dope to the racers.”

“Hmmm. That doesn’t really accord with what else we have learned. And Carter said neither he nor Fenshaw were dopers when we questioned him on the day of the murder.” 

“I know Sir. It doesn’t really add up. But Sergeant Crossley is convinced that Carter is the killer and has us all out looking for him.”

“Thank you, Collins.”

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to work?” Dot prodded from where she was kneading dough for biscuits. 

“Right, I should.” Collins kissed his wife goodbye and headed out the back door. 

\------------------

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan treated all her corpses as patients. They were just people whose lives had not turned out as their parents had dreamed at the moments of their birth. She always wondered where along their life paths they had veered in the direction that led them inexorably to her autopsy table. This young man was far too young and far too healthy to be here. 

It hadn’t been Mac’s intention to become a coroner. She wanted to be a surgeon and specialize in women’s health. Her studies at the Edinburgh School of Medicine and her steep learning curve treating wounded soldiers during the war had prepared her well and when she had come home to Melbourne, she had a place at the Royal Women’s Hospital. Unfortunately, her unrelenting commitment to the truth and her ‘unnatural’ habits in love had resulted in her being removed to the University Hospital in a subordinate position, followed by being outright dismissed after a colleague was found harvesting organs from young boys. None of it was her fault and none of it was just. However, never one to complain, she took her new role as coroner as seriously as any other medical task and worked hard to make sure her patients got the justice they deserved. 

Jane Ross was with her that morning in the morgue. She had asked if she could help out as a way to decide if she really wanted to go to medical school. Mac had readily agreed. “I always wished I had had someone to mentor me when I was starting out. I really had to scramble to catch up to the boys whose fathers were doctors. And, it didn’t help that I was the only woman in my class. That’s why I started wearing suits, so they might take me a bit more seriously.”

“Did it work?” Jane asked. 

“No. The only thing that worked was taking the gold medal,” Mac grinned. “I expect you will likely do that, too.”

“I don’t really care about things like that,” Jane replied. “I just like to learn things.”

“Me, too,” Mac replied and gave Jane a one-armed hug. 

They were currently looking down at the body of Rory Fenshaw, Melbourne’s latest, greatest cycling hope. Jack and Phryne had discovered his body in the locker room at the Victoria Cycling Union club house. 

Jane admired Mac a great deal. She knew that Mac wasn’t much like other women and she was a lot different from Phyrne. They were both smart and tough and they didn’t care what other people thought. But it was obvious that Miss Phyrne was very feminine and Mac wasn’t. When Jane imagined herself in the future, she saw herself as a bit more like Mac. It wasn’t that she didn’t like pretty clothes and boys, but she didn’t really think that pretty clothes and boys liked her. Whenever she dressed up in Phyrne’s castoffs she felt strange and quivery, and the boys she knew thought she was too smart for her own good. She sighed and Mac said, “what’s up?”

“Nothing, Dr. Mac.”

“That didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I can’t seem to focus on much of anything at the moment,” Jane replied.

“Like what?”

“Like whether to go to University and where. Like whether to cut my hair or keep it long. Like whether to wear lipstick or not. It’s all a big muddle.”

“Ah,” said Mac, “the trials and tribulations of being sixteen. I wouldn’t do it again if my very life depended on it.”

“What did you do when you were sixteen?”

Mac wondered how much she should or could share with Jane about coming to terms with her attractions to women. She knew that Jane was as open minded as Phyrne and Jack but she didn’t want there to be any concern that she was taking advantage. Unfortunately, that kind of gossip was what lost her the job at the Women’s Hospital. 

“When I was sixteen, I also didn’t know what I wanted to do and whether what I wanted was even possible. No one in my family had gone to medical school and my parents didn’t think it was ‘seemly’ for a girl to go to university at all.”

“So how did you manage it?” Jane asked. They were still nonchalantly cataloguing Rory Fenshaw’s internal organs as they talked. Mac was always amazed at Jane’s sangfroid around dead bodies. 

“I decided that the only opinion that mattered was my own. I researched what it would take to go to the best medical school and I knuckled down and got the marks and the scholarships.” 

“Didn’t your parents want you to get married and have children?”

“Yes, they most certainly did. But that wasn’t what I wanted. Is that what you want, Jane?”

“I don’t know,” she replied and kept her face turned away from Mac. Jane always worried about whether she would have children like her own mother with mental problems. 

“We don’t know whether your mother’s illness is hereditary,” Mac said, cleverly deducing the problem.

“No, I guess not.” Jane paused. “Miss Phyrne has me, but she really never wanted children either. How do you know if you want them or not?”

“Search me,” Mac said, “I never did. But fortunately for the species lots of people do. If that’s what you want Jane, it’s okay. But I would hate for you to not take a chance a being a doctor. You would be a brilliant one.”

“I want that, too. It’s just hard to think straight sometimes between what the girls at school want, what Miss Phyrne wants and what I want.”

“Well, if you want to learn how to look good in dresses and lipstick, you have the best mentor in the world at home. If you want to try out waistcoats and suits, you can always ask me.” 

They both laughed and turned back to their patient. “Okay, Jane, tell me what we know so far.”

“The petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes and the blue of his lips suggest that he has been poisoned by an agent that had stopped him from breathing,” Jane began. “There wasn’t much in his stomach contents. He was obviously hale and hearty and ate healthy food and not too much. His last meal was tea and ham sandwiches.” 

Mac picked up the discussion. “His liver is somewhat enlarged which suggests he might have been ingesting toxins. He is too young for cirrhosis,” she continued, “and there are no other signs of chronic alcoholism.” 

Jane jumped in again. “A syringe and phial had been found near his body. When you tested them for their contents you found some surprising results. The phial contained nothing but an herbal concoction of ginseng, caffeine and an extract from bull’s testicles.” Jane laughed a bit too loudly at that and blushed. Mac diagnosed teenage embarrassment with sexual body parts and thought to herself that Jane was more likely to follow in Phyrne’s footsteps than hers when it came to matters of the heart. 

Mac asked, “would that kill anyone?” 

“Apart from a bit of a buzz, it wouldn’t do much else. However, the syringe contained strychnine, heroin, cocaine, and caffeine. In small doses, this might create a temporary increase in performance, but out of balance it might knock a person out or kill them.”

“That’s right, Jane. The amount of strychnine is 10 times what would be used to kill rats.”

Mac figured that the presence of strychnine in the syringe was looking like the most probable cause of Fenshaw’s death. When she tested his blood, it was confirmed. But there was no sign of an injection in either of his arms and no evidence he had swallowed it. 

She asked Jane, “So how do you think the strychnine got into him?”

Before they could begin a more thorough examination of the body, Sergeant Crossley arrived. 

“Good morning, Sergeant. I am just in the middle of this one and it is a puzzle.”

“Why is this child here?” Sergeant Crossley demanded. He was a big man and in the small space in the morgue his big voice resonated and there was no doubt of his attempt to intimidate. Jane shrank back slightly, but Mac was not one to be intimidated.

“She is my intern, Sergeant. Her name,” she said with some force and pointing towards Jane, “is Miss Jane Ross.” 

“I don’t think this is any place for a woman, let alone a girl.”

“Well, alas, you are stuck with us,” Mac said, standing close to the Sergeant and looking up at him.

“Just the facts, Doctor, not the politics. What killed him?”

“It looks like strychnine, but I can’t be certain yet.”

“Rat poison?”

“Yes.”

“How could he die from rat poison?”

“It was in the syringe, Sergeant. My problem is that I can’t find an injection site, yet.” 

“Why would he inject himself with strychnine?” Mac turned her face towards Jane so that Sergeant Crossley couldn’t see it and rolled her eyes. Jane stifled a giggle.

“No idea. I think that’s your job to find out.”

“Sure he didn’t just have a heart attack?”

“Quite sure, Sergeant. Take a look at him. He is a perfect physical specimen. But I also examined his heart and internal organs. No sign of a heart attack.”

“So you think it is a murder?”

“I suppose he may have deliberately injected himself with strychnine or accidentally put too much into his cocktail, but it doesn’t seem likely.”

“What do you mean, cocktail?”

“The syringe contained strychnine, heroin, cocaine, and caffeine.”

“What?” the Sergeant was taken aback.

“Though none of those substances were in his stomach contents.” She held up the jar holding a rather greasy brown mess in which parts of a ham sandwich were still discernable. Sergeant Crossley backed up towards the door. 

“Let me know when you have more to go on,” he said, his voice quivering. “Have the report on my desk as soon as you can.” The large man turned and if large men could scamper, he would have scampered out into the hallway and up the stairs. 

Jack and Phyrne, who had just arrived at the morgue in the Hispano were quick to duck behind the shrubbery out front to prevent Sergeant Crossley from seeing them there. 

“He didn’t look at all well,” Phryne observed. “Mac must have been up to her old tricks to keep unpleasant policemen away from her bodies.”

They opened the back door to the morgue and descended the stairs. Jack had updated Phyrne on the confession from Carter and she agreed that it made no sense. 

As they walked into the autopsy room, Jack said to Mac, “check for strychnine and cocaine. We have heard that they are commonly used to enhance performance.”

“You just missed the official investigators,” Mac said, nodding towards the door and waving her jar.

Jack recoiled slightly. “Crossley not up to a bit of … looks like a ham sandwich?”

“No,” Mac replied. “Bullies seldom are.” She put the jar down. 

“Cocaine, strychnine, heroin and caffeine,” Jane said from behind Mac.

“Ah Jane, nice to see you,” Jack said.

“You as well, Insp … Mr. Robinson.”

Jack turned around and as he turned back he laughed. “Every time someone says Mr. Robinson, I have to check and see whether my father is following me around.” They all chuckled. 

“So he was poisoned,” Phyrne interjected, “how? Was that what was in the phial?”

“No. The phial had Fenshaw’s prints on it along with another set that we are still waiting to confirm. But it contained…,” she turned to Jane.

“Herbs and testicles,” Jane said, giggling and avoiding Jack’s eyes. 

“Sounds like a new recipe for a French delicacy,” Phryne smirked, not avoiding Jack’s eyes.

“Ouch,” Jack said. “Why would anyone consume herbs and testicles?”

Jane replied, “probably they thought it would make them faster or tougher. The Chinese use tiger …. tiger…” She couldn’t finish the sentence with Jack in the room. She was annoyed with herself at her inability to be clinical just because there was a man around. 

Phryne finished the sentence, “tiger penises. They really believe it works, but I doubt it does and I doubt that killed him, unless it was infected or something.”

“No, it isn’t what killed him. Jack was right about the strychnine and the dose was 10 times higher than used in ordinary rat poison. It would have killed him very fast, hence not much struggling as he gasped for breath.”

“So that puts Carter in the clear. He claimed in his confession that the phial was doctored, but since we now know that’s not true, it confirms that the confession is false. But who is he protecting?” Phryne asked.

“Julia Morrison,” Jane replied. “Julia is the supplier of the product and Carter knows that she had been supplying Rory. He must have concluded that she murdered him, and he is trying to take the fall for her.” 

“What is also interesting,” Mac went on, “is that his liver looks like he might have been doing some toxins for a while. So perhaps he thought it was his normal dose, but it had been tampered with? What we don’t know is where the injection site was. It wasn’t in his arms,” she continued.

“Maybe he thought he would be detected if it were his arms. We should look for a more private site,” Phyrne suggested.

While all four were present, they took the sheet off Rory Fenshaw’s body and searched for an injection site. 

“There are clearly some marks in his groin,” Mac said as she moved the dead man’s penis and testicles aside and pointed at some red welts. “But these are older, I don’t think this is it.”

Jane couldn’t help blushing as she watched the two women and Jack look at Fenshaw’s genitals with such detachment. All she could think of was what Jack’s might look like and that was causing her to get the hiccups. 

“Jane, are you quite alright?” Phyrne asked her with some disdain. “If you are going to be a doctor, you need to be more clinical than this.”

Jack said, kindly, “perhaps it is my presence.”

Mac’s response was not so kind. “And so what if it is. Jane, there will be no shortage of men in your medical school. Best to get over the giggles now. But don’t feel so bad, they will giggle the first time they look at a dead women’s genitals in front of a woman, too. Right, Jack?”

“Right,” he said, swallowing noticeably. Thinking back to his first female victim, he couldn’t recall much giggling. Horror, yes, giggling, not really. 

Mac and Jack rolled the young man’s body onto his stomach. 

“There,” Jane pointed at Rory Fenshaw’s left buttock. 

There was a pin mark and a small bruise. Mac examined it and said, “whoever wielded that syringe was playing for keeps. Given how fast he died, that is some bruise.”

“Could he have done it himself?” Jack inquired.

Phryne took the syringe and tried to reach around her body to the angle of the wound. “Possible, but not likely. Why not just use the inside of your own leg again? Easy to reach and easy to hide in a shower.”

“Good observation, Miss Fisher,” he noted. 

“I need to write this up for Crossley,” Mac noted and then said, conspiratorially, “it’s possible that Jane might need to take her own notes, for her internship, too.”

“Yes, Dr. Mac, I think so.” Jane winked at Jack and Phryne as they left and headed back to the Hispano.


	10. Where Are You Going, Commissioner?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bert and Cec follow Commissioner Blenheim and find out some very interesting things.

One advantage of Bert and Cec owning a taxi is that it made tail jobs a lot easier. No one thought anything about seeing a taxi in just about any street in Melbourne. Phryne had given them the taxi as a gift for helping her on some early cases. They felt beholden to her but mostly they really enjoyed helping her in her detective work. 

They decided to follow the Commissioner on a few different evenings after he finished his work day. The first two days were uneventful, his police driver simply drove him home to his house in Toorak and he stayed in for the evening. 

However, on Tuesday evening, he walked from the Victoria Police Headquarters to the Conservative Club and went in. 

“How’re we going to get in there?” Bert said looking at his dust coat and boots.

“Round the back,” replied Cec. “Let’s see if we can pretend like we are waiting for a fare and see what the staff have to say about the commish and the other capitalists that hang around here.”

“Too right,” Bert replied, tossing his cigarette butt on the ground.

The two men drove the cab around to the service entrance of the club and went into the kitchen. 

“Anything for a couple of thirsty cabbies waiting on a posh fare?” Cec said to the sous chef who was cutting up vegetables.

“Our client came in to the club but asked us to wait for him. Could be awhile,” Bert added. 

“Sure, always happy to help out another working stiff. Jamie Andrews,” the sous chef replied. “I’d shake your hand but I’m up to it in muck.”

“No worries, mate.” 

“You can find a beer in that icebox over there,” Jamie Andrews pointed with his elbow. “Just don’t let chef see you, he’ll go crook.”

“Where is he?” Cec asked.

“Upstairs in a meeting. We have about half an hour.”

“What’s it like working here amongst the capitalist overlords?” Bert asked.

“Ha!” Jamie replied. “Red raggers, then?”

“What’s it to ya?” The chip on Bert’s shoulder was starting to show.

“Nothing at all. I’m one of you. But if you like to cook, and I do, this is a good gig. Pay isn’t too bad and you get to eat the left overs.”

“Must get tough dealing with all the mucky mucks all day though. We saw the new police commissioner come in. I bet they aren’t much fun.”

“You’d be surprised. This isn’t just your ordinary club. They let women in, if you get my meaning?” Jamie Andrews winked at the two cabbies.

“Dancers?” Cec asked.

“No, mistresses.” Jamie replied.

“Is that a fact? Any interesting ones?”

“I don’t grass on anyone, even capitalists, but just let me say, you’d be surprised.” Jamie winked and then quickly turned back to his cutting board as Chef walked into the room.

“And who are you?” he said in an unfriendly tone looking at Bert and Cec. 

“Just a couple of thirsty cabbies, waiting on a posh fare upstairs.”

“Well, you can wait outside in your cab. This is a respectable establishment.”

“Yeah, we hear.” They both walked out chuckling and winking at each other.

They drove the cab back around front to see if they could see the Commissioner or anyone else leaving. As they waited they saw a black limousine pull up at a side door and though it was dark the person who got out and went into the club was a clearly a well-dressed woman. “Must be one of the ‘women’,” Bert said and Cec nodded in his usual taciturn way.

The cabbies waited until the Commissioner left at about 11 pm. They had seen several women enter and leave by the side door but the lack of an overhead light made it hard to identify any of them. That was probably intentional, they concluded. 

When they apologized to Phryne, she told them that she was pleased with the information. “There is a good chance he is using the Conservative Club for an assignation of some kind. That’s more than we knew last week. Follow him again on the weekend and see where he goes. Perhaps he has another favourite spot to meet his mistress.”

“Hold on Miss, just because some mistresses go to that club don’t mean he has one.”

“True enough, but the fact that he goes there and mistresses also go there is a good place to start.”

The two cabbies arranged to have their cab in Toorak on Saturday morning and observed Commissioner Blenheim’s chauffeur loading his golf clubs into his limousine. They followed the car out of town and up the road to Ballarat. 

“Funny,” Bert said, “this ain’t the way to the country club. Guess he’s playing a course out of town.” The two men looked at each other and shrugged.

They tailed the car to Rockbank where it stopped outside the railway hotel. The Commissioner got out and went in while the chauffeur parked the car and walked into the pub. 

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Cec noted. 

As they were waiting another expensive car pulled up and the driver let a well-dressed woman club out of the back seat. She looked around before stepping out and then hurried into the same hotel. This time the men got a good look at her in the broad daylight. 

“Doesn’t she remind you of that first woman we saw at the Conservative Club?” Cec asked. “Kind of, but hard to say. Same height and build though and the same make of car,” Bert replied.

“That, too,” said Bert. “How do you propose we find out if they are in there together?”

The two men thought for awhile and then Cec suggested that they go in and tell the desk clerk that they need some help with the cab. One of them might be able to get a look at the register. 

The clerk didn’t seem all that concerned about helping them but Bert was finally able to convince him to go as far as the door which gave Cec a few short minutes to check the register. All he found was that a Mr. and Mrs. Smith had checked in at the same time as the Commissioner and the other woman drove up. He also noted that there was no sign of either of them in the hotel lobby or parlour. 

“I don’t really see that there is anything there which needs my help,” the exasperated clerk finally got out of Bert’s grasp. 

“Sorry, mate. Maybe we will go and find a mechanic to take a look.”

“Please do. This hotel is for respectable guests. Please go away.” 

Bert and Cec shot each other grins as they walked out the front door. 

When they reported back to Phryne they gave her a description of the car and the woman. 

“Well, well,” she said, cocking her head at them. “If that doesn’t sound like the spitting image of Dagmar Wilson. Perhaps you could do me one more favour. Find a way to get me the description and license plate of Dagmar Wilson’s car and see if you can’t confirm that they are one and the same.”


	11. The Tandem Club Picnic and Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More evidence to be found at the Tandem Club Race, including who are the best cyclists in Melbourne.

The Melbourne Tandem Club picnic and charity race was an annual event to celebrate the joy of cycling and to raise money for the Victoria Cycling Union. It was the event of the season for people who loved bikes and bike riding. The participants were a mix of the wealthy and athletic of the city. Jeff and Louise Dunbar, racing sponsors and members of the VCU, Simon Gates, who had hired Jack and Phyrne to investigate the race fixing, and his wife Sarah, were among the luminaries who attended. It was a perfect opportunity for Jack and Phyrne to scope out the potential suspects in both the murder of Rory Fenshaw and the race fixing for the Melbourne 100 km Classic.

Among the events of the day was a costume contest where the riders were judged for their ability to reflect the riding sensibilities of the gay 90’s. Phyrne had delegated the costume planning to Dot and she was not disappointed. Phryne’s dress was a confection of green and pink bloomers and cycling suit with a matching cloche. It also accommodated the cycling shorts that Phryne insisted on wearing. Dot had chosen a tan tweed suit with a jacket, waistcoat and plus fours for Jack. She also selected a brown trilby for a hat. They dressed together at Wardlow and vogued for the mirror in Phyrne’s dressing room. It was always hard for Jack and Phryne to stay upright when they were together without their clothes on, but they made due with a few tickles and kisses and promises of more later.

Mr. Butler had fixed a picnic that was a personal best. It contained cold chicken, Jack’s favourite ham sandwiches, salad and champagne. 

As they rode from Wardlow to Queen Victoria Gardens for the event, they waved gayly at the people they saw along the route. Jack reflected on how he would never have dreamed of engaging in an activity like this before he met Miss Fisher. She had upended just about all aspects of his formerly sedate and uneventful life. 

When they arrived at the park, they saw that the picnic grounds were a riot of bunting and tents. The riders were expected to ride in a promenade around the park and then those who were interested would enter a short five-kilometer race. Jack maneuvered their bike to ride alongside Simon and Sarah Gates for the promenade. 

As they came up beside them, Jack introduced Phryne to Simon and Sarah. 

“Are you going to ride in the race?” Phyrne asked Sarah.

“Of course, but Jeff and Louise Dunbar always win. We ride for the fun of it, not for the competition,” Sarah Gates replied.

There was something about Sarah that Phryne immediately liked. She was also dressed in a riding suit and bloomers and she was clearly athletic with an easy smile. 

Despite Sarah’s avowed lack of expectation of winning the Tandem Race, Phryne had not forgotten that Sarah Gates had been mentioned by Robby Carter as one of the principal suspects in the illegal race betting. “Does anyone place any wagers on this race?” she asked.

Sarah laughed, “it’s not really that kind of a race. I mean, I suppose there might be a few friendly bets like, if they beat you, they get your picnic basket. The real action is on the M100 race.”

“How much money gets involved in the M100?”

“A lot,” Sarah Gates replied. “It’s good betting. There is a lot of drama on the road and cycling is unpredictable. If the weather is bad or if there is a wind kick up during the ride then ‘all bets are off’ as they say. It’s very exciting.”

“You sound like a keen fan.”

“I am Miss Fisher. I wanted to race as a kid. There used to be some women’s racing during the war, to keep up the fan interest. But when the lads came home it all ended. There aren’t any opportunities like M100 for women even though we are easily strong enough to race. So I get my rush by betting on the boys.”

Phyrne could relate to what Sarah was saying. As a driver and pilot she was often faced with male disapproval. She had had to fight hard to get a woman racer entered into a local driving rally only a year ago. 

“I will never understand what men are afraid of. They don’t want us to show them up, I guess.” Phryne knew that Jack and Simon were listening to the conversation. “I mean, they won’t even let us ride on the front of these tandems.” 

“I told you Miss Fisher, it is designed for the taller person to be on the front,” Jack said resignedly. 

“Yes, you did. And I agreed it is part of the conspiracy.” All four of them laughed. 

Jack then said, “I see Jeff Dunbar up there, I think we will catch up to them now. Bye, Simon!”

Phryne bid adieu to Sarah Gates and they sped up their pedaling to catch up to the Dunbar bike. 

“Mr. Dunbar,” Jack called out as they pulled up beside the two riders. 

“It’s the detectives, darling,” Jeff Dunbar was speaking to his wife Louise.

“How exciting. Do you still think my husband is a murderer?” Louise asked Jack and Phyrne. “It’s very thrilling.”

Phyrne placed her hand onto Jack’s back as if to send him a message about how irritating she expected the Dunbars to be. 

Jack replied, “we haven’t ruled out anything yet, but today we are just here for the picnic and the race.”

“I wouldn’t bother about the race. “As newbies to tandem riding, you are not likely to have much of a chance at winning.”

“Oh, really,” Phryne replied sassily. “You do know that Jack, here, is a former contender in the M100.”

Louise laughed derisively. “He may have been a contender but he doesn’t look like much now and you clearly are not a bike racer.”

“You may be surprised,” Phyrne replied. She was feeling quite spiteful by this point.

Jack sped up and they rode away. “They seem nice,” he understated. 

“We are going to beat them, aren’t we, Jack?” Phryne asked.

“We will do our damnedest,” he replied. “Are you feeling strong?” 

“Never stronger.”

“Okay, then we need to talk strategy. It’s a very short course at only five kilometers. So strength will win out over tactics, however, there are a few things that will help.”

“Fire away, coach,” Phryne replied. 

“There is a short uphill early in the race, we need to beat them to the top but without killing ourselves. The trick to that is to follow close behind to draft them and then when I see that they are flagging a bit, I will call out ‘gas’ and we will stand up on the pedals and ride like the very devil is after us.” 

“I can do that.”

“You say that but remember what I said about cycling and suffering?”

Phryne groaned.

“Winning is being able to buffer the suffering better than the other guy, so when it starts to hurt, that’s the signal to go harder.”

“I can do that,” Phryne said again, although slightly less forcefully.

“Then on the downhill, when we come back to the park, the trick is aerodynamics. So, when I tell you to do so, put your head down so you are completely protected from the wind by my body. Have you ridden a motorbike going at speed?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied testily. 

“Then you know what to do. Lean into the corner and put out the knee of the inside leg. That way we will take the corners tight and fast. Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Then we have a good chance to win. I saw Dunbar after the group ride on Sunday. I can easily take him in a straight up horse race, and I know how strong you are, so the only unknown is Louise Dunbar. My money is on you.”

“Tally ho!” Phryne said enthusiastically.

The mayor announced that it was time for the riders who wanted to race to line up at the starting line. Simon and Sarah, Jeff and Louise, and Jack and Phryne lined up towards the front of the group of about 20 tandems. When all riders were in place the starting gun went off and the Dunbars shot to the front of the group with Jack and Phryne tucked in tightly behind. 

As Jack had planned, halfway up the steep early hill the Dunbars started to flag and he shouted ‘gas’. Phryne jumped on her pedals and matched Jack stroke for stroke as they passed the other riders and took the lead. Just as he had warned, her legs were burning and her lungs were gasping, but she remembered his words about suffering and hunkered down to make sure that they crested the hill with a wide gap. 

With no time to rest, Jack pushed them forward around the short circuit but they could hear the Dunbars shouting at each other as they tried to catch up. By the time they had reached the return loop and the downhill back to the park the Dunbars were back in the lead. 

“Phyrne,” Jack shouted over the wind, “if you have never been fearless before, now is the time to start.” 

“Let’s do it,” she shouted back. As Jack had told her, she crouched down so that she was out of the wind and Jack pointed the bike down the hill as fast as he could make it go. 

“Whee hee!!” she cried as they leaned in and out of the corners. They caught up to and then passed Jeff and Louise Dunbar again. 

When they hit the final few hundred metres of flat before the finish line the Dunbars were closing in on them. Both teams rode as hard as they could and Jack and Phryne crossed the line a wheel length ahead. Cheers rose up from the crowd and the other riders. The Dunbars had won for five straight years and the fans clearly believed it was time for someone else to take the plate. 

When they slowed down and stopped, Jack asked Phryne if she was okay. 

“Okay, Jack?” she said as she gasped for breath, “I am thrilled. That was the most fun I have had in ages. Let’s do it again!”

Jack laughed. “I told you that the rush from winning the race can take the edge off the pain.”

“Pain,” Phryne said, “what pain?” 

Jack laughed again. “You’ll see.” 

They rode over to where they mayor was waiting to congratulate the winners. As they got off the bike, Phryne noticed that her legs were a bit wobbly but that wasn’t going to prevent her from accepting a cheerful hug from Sarah Gates and a grudging handshake from Louise Dunbar. 

“I guess I underestimated your determination,” Louise said.

“I guess you did,” Phryne replied. “But I am not a sore winner. Why don’t you and Jeff and you and Simon join Jack and me for the picnic?” 

“Sounds like fun,” Sarah Gates replied. “Come on Louise, maybe you and Jeff can pick up a few tips,” she teased.

Jack and Phyrne accepted the glass plate that was the prize for winning the Tandem Club classic and found a nice spot to set up their picnic with their guests. 

As they tucked into the champagne and other treats, Jeff Dunbar asked Jack whether there was any more news on Rory Fenshaw’s death. 

“As a matter of fact, I was able to see a copy of the coroner’s report. He was definitely poisoned by a cocktail that bears a striking resemblance to this year’s preferred performance enhancer. There was an amount of cocaine, but the agent that killed him was strychnine, only the dose was about 10 times higher than a racer would use. It would have killed him very quickly.”

“Who would want to kill Mr. Fenshaw?” Phryne asked Jeff. 

“I honestly don’t know,” he replied. “Not me. I had put a lot of money into sponsoring his career and I was expecting great things from him when he hit the European racing circuit. I was hoping that by advertising my rubber manufacturing business on his jerseys I might improve my sales over there. I am the last person to want him dead.”

“Sarah, you talked about the gambling that goes along with bike racing. Was Rory Fenshaw’s name mentioned as a good or bad bet on the M100?” Jack asked, trying to feel out Sarah Gates on the betting issues.

“Rory was always the favourite, but I was betting on Robby Carter”, Sarah replied. “Carter seemed to be putting an extra something special in his races against Fenshaw this season. I think he was motivated to win M100 this year.” Phryne and Jack looked at each other as they both recalled that Sarah Gates’ name had not turned up in the records at Hector Chambers’ betting shop.

"Anything odd about the betting? I have heard that a J.K. Starley is betting but that seems like an alias since that is also the name of the inventor of the safety bike." 

"Not that I have heard," Sarah replied but Phyrne noticed her ears flushed a bit.

“When you say Carter had something special, do you mean something special as in dope? We have heard his name mentioned in that regard,” Jack noted.

“From whom?” Dunbar responded angrily. “Rory was mad about what he ate and drank. A real purist. I told you that before.” Dunbar was not happy that his rider’s ethics were being questioned again.

“So, who on the circuit is known for doping then?” Jack asked.

“Fabio Lorenz has been mentioned,” Jeff offered. “He is a local Italian lad. Very flashy on and off the bike. I have heard people talk about him using something extra to help his racing.” Phryne recalled that Jack had mentioned the unusual betting on Lorenz and tucked that away to think about more later. 

“Was Lorenz there for the group ride on Sunday?” Jack followed up.

“Yeah, I think he was,” Dunbar replied. 

“Okay, we will add him to our list of suspects,” Phyrne said. She didn’t mention to the group that they were actually looking for a woman in connection to the Fenshaw murder.

“He will be at the pre-race gala, with all the other riders,” Louise mentioned. “You are going to the gala?”

“Phryne has never met a gala that she didn’t like,” Jack replied. 

“Then I had better make sure you are on the guest list,” Simon said, winking at Phryne.

As the picnic wound down, Phryne stood up and groaned. Jack laughed. “I hate to say I told you so.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I will deal with you later,” she said. “I’m looking forward to it,” he replied with a wink.

As they rode home from the picnic, they compared notes on what they had learned. 

“Sarah Gates is lying about the betting,” Jack noted. “She says she is betting on Carter, but her name is nowhere to be found. Our anonymous bettor, J.K. Starley, is betting on Lorenz who we now are told may be doping. Perhaps Sarah is behind both the doping and the illegal betting. She wanted Fenshaw to throw the race so she could make money betting on Lorenz and she was doping him to make sure her investment worked.”

Phryne agreed and continued, “but that doesn’t explain who killed Fenshaw? She could be the murderer as she can clearly ride a bike, but why would she kill him if she was paying him to throw the race?”

“Maybe he was threatening to expose her?” Jack suggested.

“We need to follow up with Carter and Lorenz. Why don’t I leave that to you and I will try to follow up with Sarah Gates,” Phyrne offered. “Now let’s get this damned bike home and put it out to pasture.

“Don’t fancy a career as a tandem racer, Miss Fisher?” Jack teased. Phyrne stuck her tongue out at the back of his head and remained silent for the rest of the ride home.


	12. A Strange Way to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder and another piece in the puzzle.

“Mr. Robinson?” Mr. Butler put his head into the parlour where Jack and Phyrne were having a nightcap and discussing the case over draughts. “Simon Gates is on the telephone.”

Jack went to the phone set. “Simon?” He listened. “Of course, Simon, we will be right around.”

Jack returned to the parlour to inform Phyrne and Jane of the contents of his conversation. “Jeff Dunbar has been found dead and he left a suicide note. He said couldn’t live with his gambling addiction. We may have found out who J.K. Starley is. Simon wants us to come over to Dunbar’s house and talk to Louise.”

“Mr. Butler bring the Hispano around,” Phryne addressed her butler.

As it wasn’t an emergency, Phyrne paid some heed to Jack’s admonitions about the speed limit, but she did get there at a fair clip, notwithstanding.

“I am going to give up reminding you about speeding,” Jack said.

“It’s about time,” she replied, giving him a hard stare.

She had parked the car at the end of a long curving driveway in front of the Dunbar house. Jeff Dunbar was in the rubber business and had been very successful. The house was a beautiful stone mansion and evoked a 17th century English manor with a plain front that Phryne assumed disguised a back with verandas and balconies over an ornate garden. They were met at the door by Simon Gates. 

“Come in, Jack and Miss Fisher. Louise is upstairs lying down. The coroner gave her a powder to calm her. She has been quite hysterical.”

“As you would be if you found your dead husband. Honestly, being hysterical is entirely appropriate, it seems to me,” Phyrne said testily as she swished by. 

“Of course, Miss Fisher. I didn’t mean to sound unsympathetic,” Gates apologized. 

“And what are you doing here?” Sergeant Crossley had heard the detectives talking to Gates and had stalked out of the study to confront them. “This is a crime scene.”

“We are well aware of that Sergeant,” Jack replied, extending to his full six feet and stepping close to Crossley. “We are guests of the family in a time of crisis.”

As Jack distracted Crossley with the police equivalent of a cock fight, Phryne took the opportunity to slip around the Sergeant and into the study. Jeff Dunbar was lying on the floor with half of his head missing. He held a gun in one hand and there was a note on his desk, which Phryne took to be the suicide note. Dr. MacMillan was crouched over the body. 

“Er, Miss, this is a crime scene.” Phryne recognized the voice of Senior Constable Hugh Collins. 

“Yes, Hugh, I can see that. Is this the position in which the body was found?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss, I believe so.”

“Odd that he would be lying on the side where the bullet went in. I mean I assume that’s where the bullet went in because that’s the side where he’s holding the gun.”

“Good catch, Phryne,” Mac said, “I was wondering the same thing. The blast should have caused him to fall the other way. I was just going to turn him over to see what the entry wound looks like. Constable?” Mac gestured to Collins to come and help her turn the body over. The young Constable looked a bit green as he gingerly helped the Coroner move Jeff Dunbar’s body.

“Aha, there is a bullet wound, but it still makes no sense him landing on the side that he shot from,” Phyrne observed.

“What are you doing in here?” shouted Sergeant Crossley from the door. 

“Sorry, Sir, sorry, she … I mean … what do you think about the entry wound being on the side towards the floor, Sir?” Collins stuttered, pointing towards the body with his pencil.

“I don’t think anything about it, Constable. He left a note, that’s good enough for me.”

“But surely not good enough for the grieving widow. Or for any future victims of this murderer,” Jack intoned from behind Crossley. “Do your job, Sergeant.”

“I won’t take any backtalk from you, Robinson, now that you are a civilian. Take your ‘lady friend’ and leave now before I have you arrested.”

“We are guests of the family,” Phyrne reminded him. “We are going upstairs to speak with Mrs. Dunbar.”

“Fine,” Crossley replied angrily, “I already have her statement.”

Jack and Phryne left the room and followed Simon Gates upstairs. 

“Is Sarah here?” Phyrne asked.

“No,” Simon replied. “She had some kind of club meeting. I left a message that she should come as soon as she gets home. She and Louise weren’t close but I am sure Louise could use a friend and I didn’t know who else to ask.” 

When they entered the master bedroom, they saw Louise Gates lying prostrate on a large bed with a glass of brandy beside her. She was awake and staring at the ceiling. 

“Louise,” Phryne said kindly, “its Phyrne Fisher and Jack Robinson. Simon called us about Jeff. We want to help.”

“I can’t believe he would kill himself. Of all the people who wouldn’t, Jeff was at the top of the list. He loved life.”

“What can you tell us about this note?” Jack asked. “Was Jeff a gambler?”

“I suppose he bet on a few footy matches like everyone else, but nothing serious. Jeff’s only obsession was cycling and if he gambled, if you can call it that, it was that he was betting on Rory Fenshaw’s career in Europe.”

“Would he have killed himself because of Fenshaw’s murder?” Phryne asked.

“I can’t see why. It was bad for the publicity he hoped to get this racing season, but we have lots of money and could have backed someone else. Jeff liked Rory, but not enough to kill himself. You both saw him this morning. He was happy.” Louise started weeping again and Phryne sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

“Do you own a handgun? she asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Louise replied, “maybe. I don’t really care about stuff like that. Jeff could have had one and never told me.”

Collins came upstairs and into the bedroom. He signaled to Jack who walked out into the hallway.

“Sir, I mean Jack, Sir, …”

“Yes, Hugh?” Jack tried to help Collins with his uncertainty.

“The body has been taken away by Dr. MacMillan and Sergeant Crossley has gone.” Collins tilted his head towards the main floor in an exaggerated way to indicate that the crime scene was vacant. 

“Thank you, Collins. We will be careful not to leave any fingerprints or tamper with anything.”

“Very good, Sir, I mean, Jack, Sir, I mean, Jack.”

“You will get used to it, Hugh,” Jack smiled at his former Constable and now nervous friend.

Phryne turned to Louise Dunbar, “did anyone visit Jeff tonight?”

“I don’t know. Jeff spent a lot of time in his study and I spent time in my reading room. I didn’t know a lot about what he did in there, so it’s possible someone came by. Mr. Jackson would know if he answered the door.”

Phryne looked at Simon Gates who mouthed, “the butler.” Phryne nodded and the followed Jack back down stairs.

Jeff Dunbar’s study was a large and well-appointed room decorated with dark wood paneling and several bookshelves containing the usual tomes found in well-to-do houses. There was a large desk with a Tiffany desk lamp, silver pen set and several piles of paper. On one side of the desk there was a shelf containing trophies and awards and on the other a small fireplace. 

The middle of the floor contained a lovely and expensive Persian rug and with very large blood stain from Dunbar’s dramatic demise. 

“Based on the size of the exit wound, the bullet that killed Dunbar must have lodged in a wall or piece of furniture in the room,” Jack observed. “Collins, did you find the bullet?”

“No, Sir,” Collins decided reverting to his former relationship to Jack was easiest to manage. 

“Well, let’s see if we can find it.” The two men commenced looking at the side of the room with the fireplace. After several minutes they found it. 

As they looked, Phyrne was examining the trophy case. “Look at this, Jack,” she picked up one of the cycling trophies and showed him the corner of the base. “Does that look like blood?”

“Yes, Miss Fisher, it does. It also looks like there is a chip missing from that corner as well.”

“So what if the murderer actually killed him or thought they had killed him by bashing him with the trophy,” she said while demonstrating on Hugh, who ducked. “Then they shot him to cover up the bashing and left the suicide note.”

“But how could they make the shot without Louise or someone else hearing it?” Collins asked.

Phryne looked around the room for several minutes. Then she reached behind the fireplace screen and looked inside the chimney. “This is the most obvious easy hiding place. And, voila.” She pulled a pillow out from the chimney. “The murderer silenced the shot by firing through the pillow, like this”. She held the pillow up and it clearly had a hole in it surrounded by charring from the gun barrel. “The murderer pushed Dunbar’s head up far enough to put the gun against the pillow and then the body fell back onto the gunshot side.”

“We will need to follow up with Mac to advise her to look for a bashed in skull and possibly a piece of wooden trophy,” Jack said. 

“It doesn’t seem like it was completely planned. Perhaps the murderer brought the gun to scare Dunbar but then grabbed the trophy in a fit of rage. Certainly they tried to hide the evidence but didn’t do a very good job. Doesn’t seem like it was pre-meditated,” Phryne laid out her theory and both Jack and Hugh nodded. 

“But the question is, who?” Jack observed. “What did Dunbar do or know to make him worth killing?”

“Here is his diary, maybe it will say who he was seeing.” Phyrne rifled through the leather book on Dunbar’s desk. “Ah, J.K. Starley, our anonymous bettor. Interesting that he would use the pseudonym rather than the real name.”

“Maybe he didn’t know the real name and was hoping to find out who it was in some kind of sting,” Jack suggested.

“What do you mean, Sir?” Collins asked.

“Dunbar might have asked the bookie to arrange a meeting between him and J.K. Starley or let it be known that he had useful information for someone hoping to make money on the race.”

“Or he did know who Starley was but didn’t want any evidence of that in his diary,” Phryne added.

“That’s also a theory,” Jack conceded. 

Simon Gates came into the study with Mr. Jackson, the Dunbar’s butler. 

“Ah, Mr. Jackson,” Phyrne started the questioning, “did anyone visit Mr. Dunbar this evening?”

“Mr. Dunbar sometimes opened the door himself. His window overlooks the driveway and he can see if people are coming. I don’t always know and he doesn’t always require my assistance.”

“I see,” Jack jumped in. “That sounds like you don’t know if anyone was here tonight.”

“Not exactly, Sir,” Jackson replied. “There was a car here which doesn’t belong to the Dunbars, so someone was here. I just don’t know who it was.”

“What kind of car?” Phyrne asked.

“A black Besset.” Neither Phryne nor Jack noticed that Simon Gates’ face paled at the mention of the car. 

“Nice car,” Jack observed. “Not so common that we might not be able to identify it. What time did you see it?”

“Between 8 and 9 pm, Sir.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Jackson, you have been quite helpful.” 

Jack turned to Hugh and indicated the pillow and the bullet. “You might want to take those to Crossley. He won’t be happy, but they should prompt him to look a bit deeper. In exchange for that tip, I am sure you won’t mind telling us what you find out about a Besset car.”

“No Sir, I mean yes, Sir. I mean yes, I will.”

“Thank you, Collins,” Jack smiled encouragingly. 

“And we should get ourselves home, too,” Phyrne remarked. “I have lunch with Aunt P and I will need all my rest.”


	13. Lunch with Prudence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely lunch with some useful intelligence.

Phryne, Dot and Mr. Butler arrived early for lunch at Aunt Prudence’s. She wanted to make sure her team were assembled. Aunt Prudence liked having lunches where she could show off her social status and had decided that perhaps Phryne’s motives were above board this time. 

“Phyrne, thank you for coming early. It is always nice to be well prepared. I have invited Mrs. Blenheim, Mrs. Lapham, Mrs. Smithson and Miss Orwell. I think it will be a nice group. I have also set up for lunch on the veranda overlooking the back garden. It is such a nice day and the bougainvillea will be at its best.”

“Excellent plan, Aunt P. It will be lovely. Mr. Butler has brought his chicken terrine and if you allow him into the liquor cabinet he will be able to concoct a perfect cocktail for the occasion.” 

“Excellent idea. Please let him know he has free rein. Here is Mrs. Blenheim now.”

Phryne was glad to see that Mrs. Blenheim had arrived in her own car with a chauffeur. It was always possible that she would drive herself and Phyrne’s plans would have been thwarted. 

Claire Blenheim was a tall and handsome woman. She was dressed in a day frock that Phyrne was sure had come from the Hobart equivalent of Madame Fleuri’s studio. It’s shades of pink and terra cotta suited her blonde hair and hazel eyes beautifully. Phryne briefly regretted her plan as she thought that Claire looked like a person she might like. 

“Claire,” Aunt Prudence spoke first, “this is my niece Phryne Fisher. She especially wanted to meet you.” 

Phryne held her hand out and Claire Blenheim shook it firmly. “Charmed,” she said. 

“Ah. Here come the others,” Prudence announced as Mrs. Lapham, Mrs. Smithson and Miss Orwell came up the steps to the house. It appeared they may have come together in Mrs. Lapham’s car.” 

The women were ushered by Aunt Prudence’s maid to the verandah where lunch was set up for them. Mr. Butler offered a spring flower cocktail on his silver tray. Mrs. Lapham asked what was in it and Phryne said, “I find I enjoy them more when I let Mr. Butler keep his secrets to himself.” They all laughed. 

Lunch was a delicious repast of onion soup, chicken terrine and green salad and a dessert of passion fruit flummery, a special favourite of Prudence Stanley. 

Phryne was charm itself as she apologized for not welcoming the commissioner’s wife to Melbourne sooner. Claire Blenheim had been told a bit about Phryne’s adventures as a detective and her role in various organizations for the advancement of women. 

“I have heard you fly a plane and race automobiles as well,” Claire said.

“Phryne is determined to do everything that men do,” Mrs. Lapham chimed in. “I don’t think it is at all natural.” 

“Natural?” Phryne replied. “What is unnatural about women flying planes and driving cars?”

“I just think that there are different roles in the natural world for ducks and drakes. That’s all.”

Miss Orwell added, “If women do everything men do then men will want to do what we do.”

Phyrne laughed. “Well as soon as they can start having periods and babies, I will be the first to cheer.” 

Claire joined Phyrne’s laughter. “I think Phyrne has a point. I don’t want to do most of what men do, but I certainly think we shouldn’t be told not to.” 

Mrs. Lapham scoffed, “Next thing we will be expecting women to go to war, too.”

Phryne responded seriously, “I already have.”

At that Aunt Prudence jumped in. She had heard about Inspector Robinson’s resignation from Commissioner Blenheim that week and was desperately afraid with this turn in the conversation, Phryne would try and embarrass her guests. “Enough dreary politics. Who would like to take a turn around the garden?” 

The guests seemed relieved to be able to get up and return to more domestic conversations about the latest catalogues from Paris. 

Phryne took Claire Blenheim’s arm as they walked outside. “Tell me, what is it like to be married to a Police Commissioner?”

“I suppose no different than being married to any other successful man. He works very hard and I manage the household and the children. But he tries to keep his hours at least regular so I know where and when to expect him.”

“Seven days a week, I expect,” Phryne probed a bit.

“Six actually, or five and a half. He is always at the office on Saturday mornings since he gets more done when the office is quiet and then tries to get in a round of golf on Saturday afternoons. I have suggested he start taking Stephen, our 12 year old son, for the golf, but so far Tag has refused saying that he needs to play at a high standard and Stephen isn’t good enough yet. He is taking lessons at the club.”

“I take it that your Tag is a competitive man.”

“You could say that and it would be an understatement.”

“And what about you, Claire, what takes up your time?”

“I wanted to be a teacher when I met Tag in Perth. But moving to Hobart and having children made that difficult, so I pass my time reading and then adding to the children’s schooling with some subjects that they don’t get during the day.”

“Sounds interesting, like what?”

“Art history, classics, and I speak French and German. I want them both to have every opportunity. Even Evelyn, though it is harder for girls.”

“That is certainly true. My daughter Jane is currently considering universities and there are some very good ones that take women, but it is still hard for them.”

“Daughter, Miss Fisher? I didn’t realize you were married.”

“I’m not. Jane is adopted. She was abandoned by her family and I met her during a case I worked on. I couldn’t bear having her go to the welfare, so she came home with me. It has been a joy to raise her.”

“She is very fortunate.”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the group rejoined them as they all gave their apologies and started to head for their respective homes. 

Later as Phryne’s team sat at her kitchen table with a pot of tea, Phyrne fumed about the “paleolithic” attitudes of most of her lunch companions, but she did speak admiringly of Mrs. Blenheim. “Claire seems like the sort of person I would enjoy having as a member of the Women Adventuress Club. Perhaps if we can get things resolved, I will ask her.”

She continued, “So Mr. B. What did you find out?”

“Well, Miss Fisher, it seems that things are fairly ordinary at the Blenheim residence. Mr. and Mrs. Blenheim keep reasonably independent schedules and I don’t believe that they share a bedroom.”

“The chauffeur told you that?” 

“He also acts as a valet to the Commissioner.”

“Very good. What else?”

“Commissioner Blenheim goes out every Saturday morning to a small hotel on the road to Ballarat. He spends a couple of hours there and then spends the rest of the day playing golf. His chauffeur enjoys the drive and is sparking up a friendship with a local girl who works in the main street pub.”

“That confirms that what Bert and Cec saw is a regular arrangement and it is also a secret from his wife.” Phyrne’s eyebrows shot up. “Claire Blenheim thinks he goes to the office. Separate bedrooms and a secret assignation every weekend. This has the makings of just what I was hoping for.

“Bert and Cec, this makes it even more important that we can prove that the woman you saw was Dagmar Wilson.”

“Will do, Miss Fisher.”

“Last thing, team. Not one word to Jack. He would not approve.”

They all agreed and toasted the plan with their cups of tea and ANZAC biscuits.


	14. The Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing and detecting.

The Melbourne 100 km Gala was one of the big sporting and party events of the season. All the cycling fans were there along with much of Melbourne’s glitterati. The event raised a lot of money to support the Victoria Cycling Union. 

Mr. Butler pulled the Hispano Suiza up in front of the Victoria Hotel and Jack climbed out to hold the door for Phyrne and Jane. Jane had eagerly accepted Phyrne’s suggestion that she attend her first Melbourne ball as a young woman rather than as a young girl. She was dressed in one of Phyrne’s green beaded gowns that set off her blonde hair beautifully. Dot had also helped Jane to put her hair up properly rather than tied with ribbons. Jack and Phyrne had both noted that she was starting to look like quite a fetching young woman. Phyrne, of course, was dressed to steal the show in a glorious yellow silk dress that was festooned with sequins and bugle beads. When Jack had pretended to need sunglasses to look at her, she feigned innocence claiming that she was intending to celebrate the mailloux jeune or the yellow jersey of the Tour de France. It didn’t hurt that the dress was cut low enough to hint at the curve at the top of her buttocks. Jack never ceased to be amazed that this marvel of a woman had chosen him.

The ballroom at the Victoria Hotel was filled with people when Phryne, Jack and Jane walked in. They recognized many of Melbourne’s leading citizens but also the riders who were being presented for the race the next day. Phryne always noticed well-built young men and there was no shortage for her assessment. Jane also noticed how many beautiful young men were present, but while Phyrne frankly met their gazes, Jane shyly looked away when any of them looked at her. Jack, noticing how the two women were reacting to the racers merely rolled his eyes and smiled wryly. 

This year’s event was somewhat dampened by the recent deaths of Rory Fenshaw, the up and coming champion and Jeff Dunbar, a well-known supporter of Fenshaw and the sport in general. There had already been some chatter that the racers might not be safe the next day. Chief Commissioner Montague Blenheim and his wife Claire were in attendance at the gala both as leading citizens and so that Blenheim could reassure the racers and sponsors that the police had matters well in hand. When the Commissioner saw Jack and Phyrne, he acknowledged them with a nod. 

Phyrne and Jack accepted cocktails from one of the trays being held out by the waiters and once they had their drinks, Phyrne went to join her new friend Sarah Gates and Jack wandered over to Commissioner Blenheim. Phryne suggested that Jane join the young men, but she found a glass of orange juice and took up a position near a window where she could watch the proceedings unnoticed. While she was enjoying all the glamour, she was also finding her first adult gala to be somewhat overwhelming. She wished she had brought something to read. 

“Commissioner,” Jack opened when he reached Tag and Claire Blenheim, “are you a cycling fan?”

“I enjoy a good race, though footy is more my sport.”

“I enjoy a good footy match myself, Sir.”

“Have you reconsidered your position with the police, Robinson?” The Commissioner had noticed in the intervening two weeks that very little progress was being made on the cycling murders among other issues at City South.

“Not really, sir. I am considering opening my own detective agency.”

“Private, eh? Not sure I had you pricked down for seedy divorce work.”

“Well, I am hoping there are more interesting cases around than that. Simon Gates has me looking into race fixing for the fixture tomorrow.”

“Oh? And?”

“We have some leads, but nothing that would interest the police quite yet,” Jack replied.

“Do you know anything about these murders?”

“You mean the ones that Sergeant Crossley is working on?”

“You know what I mean, Robinson.”

“Only what I am allowed to know, sir.”

Tag Blenheim gave Jack a long, serious look, then laughed. “Robinson, I really do need you back on the strength. But I can see by your attendance here with Miss Fisher that is not likely to happen on the terms that the Police Board requires.”

“No, Sir, I am afraid not.”

“It is a big loss to the department. Damn the moralists on the board.”

“Indeed.”

As Jack was conversing with Blenheim, Phyrne was talking to Sarah Gates and trying to get a handle on the race fixing. She wondered if Sarah had been the one to give the money to Fenshaw to throw the race. 

She decided to take the issue on squarely. “Sarah, when you told me about the betting the other day, how much of it is on the up and up?”

“What do you mean, Phyrne?”

“Well, I have been led to believe that there may have been some attempts to fix the result tomorrow.”

“People may say that, but they don’t know bike racing. As I told you, there is a lot of uncertainty in racing due to weather, wind and the quality of the racer’s legs on any particular day.”

“But what if someone was willing to pay a favourite to lose?”

“You aren’t suggesting that, are you Phyrne?” Sarah Gates was starting to look uncomfortable.

“Rory Fenshaw had come into rather a lot of money in the last week before he was killed. Right around the same time a couple of large bets were placed against him and in favour of Robby Carter and Fabio Lorenz. Lorenz is a good rider, but he had rather long odds to win tomorrow. Since you bet on the sport, I thought you might have some insight into that.”

“Phyrne, I was starting to like you, but if you are suggesting that I was responsible for race fixing, I am going to have to change my mind.”

“Sarah, it is not going to hurt my feelings if you decide you don’t like me. I am looking for the truth and I believe that the truth is that you gave money to Rory Fenshaw to lose the race.”

“And what would make you believe that?”

“The fact that the bets were placed by an anonymous person acting as agent for John Kemp Starley. J.K. Starley invented the safety bike, so it is clearly an alias chosen by a serious fan of the sport.”

“What makes you think that was me, Phyrne?”

“The fact that you told me you were betting on the race and yet your name does not appear among the list of punters.”

“Well, you are wrong. I was planning to bet on Rory Fenshaw and after his death I decided that the odds were too difficult to calculate. I am taking a pass on this one.”

“You expect me to believe you are taking a pass on the Melbourne 100 km Race?”

“Yes, Phyrne, I do. Now, I am sorry that what I thought might be a great friendship is turning so disagreeable and I am going to take my leave.” Sarah Gates walked away, but Phyrne was convinced that she was right about her involvement in the betting on Rory Fenshaw. After letting Sarah get a small head start into the hallway, Phyrne followed her into the corridor where she saw Mrs. Gates pick up the house phone. Phryne found a spot nearby where she could eavesdrop and overheard her ask the operator to connect her to Hector Chambers. 

“Phyrne, dear, there you are,” Prudence Stanley hove into Phyrne’s line of sight just as the conversation on the phone was getting interesting.

“Aunt P,” she replied with a dreary tone, still trying to hear what she could.

“Come along, I want you to talk to the Marlboroughs.” Prudence hooked her arm through Phyrne’s and started walking. It was difficult to resist that level of determination so Phyrne went along, but not before noticing that Sarah Gates had hung up the lobby phone and was hailing a black Besset driven by a chauffeur. “Well, well,” she muttered.

“What’s that, Phyrne?” Prudence asked. “Nothing, Aunt P, nothing at all.”

Jane was still leaning against the window when a very handsome, dark haired young man held out his hand towards her. “May I have this dance?” Jane looked up in surprise.

She wasn’t sure what to do or even where to look. She had had dancing lessons at school, but the boys had been assigned to the girls. They hadn’t practiced being asked by a stranger. 

“Come on,” he said, “I promise not to bite.” He had a very disarming smile.

Jane took his hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. The music was a fast and lively Charleston and she was happy that it didn’t require her to look up. However, as the dance progressed and the young man smiled encouragingly at her, she began to feel more comfortable and smiled back at him. At the end of the number he breathlessly introduced himself as Fabio Lorenz. 

“Are you one of the racers?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Fabio replied, “and tomorrow I plan to be the winner.”

“I am sure you will do well,” Jane replied eagerly. She continued, “Are you nervous given that two murders that have happened recently?”

“The only reason anyone has to murder me,” he said, “are my good looks and the fact that I am dancing with the prettiest girl at the ball.” He winked at Jane.

“Can I bring you a drink?” he asked. Jane nodded and smiled.

When Fabio returned he had cocktails for both of them. 

“I’m not sure I should be drinking alcohol,” Jane said. “Come on,” Fabio replied, “these things don’t have enough alcohol to knock over a mouse.”

Jane sipped the drink and found it sweet and pleasant. “It’s nice,” she said. “See, I told you it would be fine,” Fabio replied. “Another dance?”

Fabio and Jane danced to several lively numbers interspersed with cocktails for the next hour. While Phyrne was being stewarded around various notables by her Aunt Prudence, Jack had started to pay attention to what was going on with the two young people. He had seen Fabio offer Jane a cocktail but he didn’t know whether it was the only one. He was pleased to see that Jane was having fun, but he knew enough about young men to keep his eye on them. 

When a slow waltz started up, Fabio took Jane into his arms soothing her protests by saying that there was nothing wrong with a slow dance. He was careful to keep his hands in place and not hold her too closely but he whispered to her how beautiful she was and how lovely she looked in her evening dress. Jane was feeling a bit lightheaded from the drinks and she was enjoying the sensation of being attractive to a man. Her stomach was whirling in a very pleasant way. When the dance ended and Fabio suggested that they take a walk on the balcony, she agreed readily. She couldn’t remember feeling quite so giddy. 

Jack watched them leave the room and decided that while he wasn’t Jane’s official guardian, he certainly cared enough about her well-being to follow from a distance. “Once a copper,” he thought to himself. 

By the time he located them around a corner and behind a pillar, he could hear Jane saying, “I’m not sure.” Fabio replied, “come on, my girl, you can’t wear a dress like that and expect to get away without a few kisses.” Jack came around the pillar and saw Fabio with Jane pinned against the wall and his hand drawing the hem of her dress up her leg. Jane was pushing Fabio’s arms away and looked distressed.

“Is everything all right, Jane?” Jack asked in his policeman’s authoritative baritone.

Fabio replied over his shoulder, “you aren’t needed around here, old man.”

Jane took the opportunity to escape Fabio’s hold on her and dashed to Jack’s side. 

She looked over at Fabio and said, “this is my father, Jack.”

Fabio recoiled but caught himself quickly. He held out his hand, “Fabio Lorenz, sir. My apologies for the misunderstanding.” 

Jack looked at Fabio sternly, “it is not me to whom you need to apologize, Mr. Lorenz, it is to the young woman.”

“Of course. My apologies, Jane. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

As Fabio moved to pass Jack to return to the ball room, Jack caught him by the forearm in a grip strong enough to make a point. “A word of advice, Mr. Lorenz. When a woman says no, it means no. Anytime or anywhere. It is a maxim that will keep you out of trouble and out of jail.”

Fabio nodded and Jack released his grip and the young man hurried off. 

“Are you okay, Jane?” Jack asked with a tone of worry in his voice. 

“Yes, Mr. Robinson. I’m just a bit embarrassed. Thank you for coming along.” Jane’s voice shook as if she was on the verge of tears and Jack pulled her into his arms to reassure and comfort her. 

“Young men can be really quite stupid and difficult sometimes, Jane. It’s not your fault.”

Jane clung to Jack while she got her composure back. When she felt a bit better she pulled back and looked up at him. “Please don’t say anything to Miss Phryne. She never lets men get to her.”

“Miss Fisher has had years of practice and I know there are men she would much sooner forget. Knowing how to deal with the opposite sex takes a bit of practice and experience. Even at my age there are times I feel like I don’t know what I am doing.” 

Jack continued, “I won’t tell her anything, but I think you should. She is your best source of advice for how to deal with unruly males.” 

“I hope you don’t mind that I told Fabio that you are my father. It was the first thing that came into my head and in the moment, I wished it was true,” Jane said.

“Not only do I not mind, I am rather flattered, Jane.”

“Would you mind if I called you something other than Inspector, Inspector?”

“Since I am no longer an Inspector, that would make sense. What do you have in mind?”

“Uncle Jack?”

“Uncle Jack, it is.” Jack held out his hand for them to shake on it. They both smiled and then Jack offered his arm to walk Jane back into the ballroom. “May I have this dance,” he asked as another waltz started up. “I am not so good at the fast dances, but this is one that I have a certain expertise in.” Jane nodded and they took the floor. 

As they danced, Jack asked Jane if she had noticed Robby Carter at the party. “I need to talk to him again.” 

“Actually, Fabio told me that Carter has disappeared. He hasn’t been at the VCU or any of the training events this week. Nobody knows where he is.”

“Hmm. That isn’t good. I don’t think Carter is guilty but disappearing doesn’t really help him.”

“Maybe he will turn up at the race tomorrow,” Jane suggested.

“Maybe. I will just have to get to the start early enough to find him and see if I can get him to talk to me,” Jack replied. 

When midnight struck, Jack and Jane found Phyrne and declared that they had turned into pumpkins and needed to go home. Phyrne scolded them that it was the carriage and not Cinderella that had turned into a pumpkin but that since they didn’t want Mr. Butler to turn into a rat she agreed that they could leave. When they arrived at Wardlow, Phryne offered Jack a nightcap but he begged off saying he wanted nothing more than pyjamas and a book. She gave him a quizzical look but didn’t say anything. When Jane wished “Uncle Jack” good night, Phyrne’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s going on?” she asked both of them. Jack shrugged and carried on up the stairs. 

Phryne turned to her ward and said firmly, “Sit down, Miss Jane, and give me the goods.”

Jane told her about the events with Fabio and how Jack had intervened to protect her honour. She admitted that she had tried to be like Phyrne and be confident with the young man, but it was beyond her. Phryne shook her head apologetically. “I have given you the talk about family planning, but I guess I should have included some advice about dealing with over-eager young men. I am sure it made you feel all warm inside to have a handsome young man take an interest in you.”

Jane nodded. Phyrne continued “and it probably made you weak in the knees when he touched you?” Jane nodded again.

“These are strong feelings and good feelings and when they occur with someone you like and trust, they can be amazing feelings. But you must believe in yourself, Jane. If you ever feel like a young man is taking advantage of you or not listening to you when you say ‘no’, or ‘slow’, or ‘stop’, then you have the right to resist. Any young man who doesn’t immediately back off, is not worth the effort. There are lots of dastardly young men in the world, but just as many lovely ones.”

“Like Uncle Jack?” Jane asked. “Like Uncle Jack,” Phyrne agreed. “You would do very well, to use Uncle Jack, or Mr. Butler or Constable Collins as templates for the men you decide to kiss. Good, honest, honourable men.” 

“Who decided on Uncle Jack?” Phyrne asked.

“I did,” Jane replied. “Inspector just isn’t a family name and he feels like family now.”

“That he does,” Phyrne replied. “Now, are you going to tell me the name of the young man?”

“No. You would kill him.” 

“Probably not kill. Maim, yes, kill, not likely.”

“I think Uncle Jack put the wind up him and he won’t be a problem again.”

“I expect that if Uncle Jack had words with him, he is plenty scared enough.”

Jane gave Phyrne a hug and they both went upstairs.

As she closed the door on her bedroom Phyrne said to Jack, “when were you going to tell me?”

“Never. It wasn’t mine to tell, but I am glad Jane did. She is going to grow up to be very attractive to men. She will need all the advice you can give her.”

“She trusts you a great deal and I am very grateful you were there to protect her.”

“I am glad too, Phyrne,” Jack replied, “Jane is one of the greatest benefits of me becoming part of your life.” He paused and then continued. “Enough of that, come here.”

“I thought you wanted to read quietly,” Phyrne teased.

“Yes, I want to read the patterns in the sequins on that dress as I slowly take it off you.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t come off slowly,” Phryne said as she undid the one fastener on the side holding it on and it fell to the floor. Jack smiled lasciviously as Phyrne walked towards him in only her camiknickers.


	15. The Melbourne 100 Classic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack races to keep up.

When Jack discovered that Robby Carter had gone missing he figured that the only opportunity he might have to find him again was at the start line for the Melbourne 100 km race. Carter’s racing career was too important to him to miss this chance to win even if it meant coming out of hiding. Phyrne kyboshed his intention to simply arrive at the warm up area, track Carter down and question him. 

“He will simply ride away as soon as he sees you. You need to be more incognito than that. While it’s true that your usual grey suits and coats often leave you well disguised in the background, for this you would stick out like a sore thumb. If you go in dressed like a racer, you might not be spotted right away and have a chance to corner Carter before he can escape.”

Jack agreed that this was a good idea and he tapped Simon Gates to borrow some racing kit that looked like it belonged in 1929 rather than 1913. When he descended to the parlour before riding over to race, Phryne gave him a whistle.

“My, my, Jack, such fine form for an old man.”

“Who are you calling old, Miss Fisher,” Jack replied flexing his muscles. 

Bert and Cec chuckled as Jack passed them on his way through the kitchen to get his bike from the garden. “Sure wouldn’t catch me in a get up like that”, Bert laughed nearly getting his breakfast tea up his nose. 

“Laugh if you must, but it’s all about the aerodynamics,” Jack replied, somewhat stung by the teasing. He stalked towards the back door as Mr. Butler diplomatically suggested he sit down for a good breakfast before heading off. 

Jack joined Bert, Cec, Dot, Jane, and Phyrne at the table and downed a good repast of toast, eggs, and bacon while they talked about the day’s plans. Jack would ride to the race start and find Carter. Bert and Cec would keep an eye on the route in case Carter took off when he saw Jack. Phryne, Dot and Jane were tapped to keep an eye on Sarah Gates. 

As Jack rode over to the start of the race, he remembered the feelings he had had in his old racing days. Heart pumping, legs strong, head in the fight for the lead. “Get a grip on yourself, Robinson, you could be these lads’ father.” Still it felt good to be in kit and on a well-made bike. 

His plan was to arrive in time to catch Robby Carter before the racers were called to the line, but not so early as to give Carter any time to debate whether racing or escaping was the better choice. The starting area was in a park filled with tents that housed racers, bikes, mechanics and team staff. His initial concerns about not being allowed in to the warm up area were unfounded, the warden at the gate waved him in without a second glance. “Maybe I look better than I think,” he thought, puffing up his chest a bit.

It took him longer to track down Carter’s team than he had expected and by the time he found it, he could hear the race announcers giving the five-minute warning to the riders to get into the starting area. The racers were jockeying for position near the front of the group. They were handicapped so the better riders got to start near the front but they still elbowed each other for the best spot within their section. Jack knew that Robby Carter would be starting near the front but that he would still be trying to keep his head down. He approached the start group from behind the rope in the spectator area. He finally spotted Carter about three rows back from the front and near the side of the group. Through some well-placed elbows of his own and a bit of prodding with the bike, he was able to get under the rope and position himself beside Carter before the younger man noticed him. 

“Mr. Carter,” he opened, “Jack Robinson. I have a few more questions.”

Robby Carter jumped like he had been jabbed with a hot poker, but he didn’t have anywhere to move in the crowd of racers. 

“What do you know about Julia Morrison’s pregnancy?” Jack jumped right into the questions in case Carter managed to escape.

“I just knew that Rory told her to get rid of it. He was a right bastard that one.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Jack pressed. 

Robby looked like he would rather be anywhere then where he was. Fortunately, the race announcer started the ten-second count down.

“I actually don’t think you did it, Robby,” Jack shouted. “Come clean and I can help you with the police.”

Carter looked hard at Jack as if he was seriously considering the offer but when the gun sounded, he jumped forward on his bike and took off. 

Jack had no choice but to follow him, not only because he needed to finish his questioning of Carter but because the crowd of racers on the road were forcing him to move. Some long lost memory of how to start a bike race kicked in as he straddled his cycle and melded into the peloton. 

As the group settled down from the initial rush, he could see ahead that Robby Carter had broken away from the group and was riding away. “Not smart, Carter,” he said to himself, “it’s too early to make a solo break if you plan to win a race like this.” However, he realized that if he could catch Carter, it might provide him a chance to finish his questions. Jack looked at the group around him and gauged his chances for pulling away and catching Carter. “I have not trained at all and I’m 15 years older than the oldest person here, but I had a good breakfast and I’m motivated” he told himself and then jumped on the pedals and started guiding his bike out of the crowd and into the gap between Carter and the peloton.

He could hear the other riders speculating about this stranger as he passed them. No doubt they were confused about how a rider with no number had managed to get up this far in the pack. But since no one knew him, they didn’t see him as a threat and let him go by. He surprised himself at how easily he caught up to Carter.

“Why did you lie about murdering Fenshaw?” he called to Carter as he pulled up into his slipstream.

Robby Carter turned and his face showed shock as he realized that Jack was right behind him. “Cor, you must be fitter than you look,” he said.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Jack replied. “Now answer my question. Why did you lie? Who are you protecting? Julia?”

“I have always loved Julia. She deserved better than Rory. He could have had anyone but he thought it was funny to take Julia away from me.”

“Is that why you fell out?”

“Wouldn’t you, if your best mate stole your girl?”

“She couldn’t have been your girl, if your best mate could steal her.”

“She wanted to be on the arm of a big star. She didn’t believe that I could be a big star.”

“So what happened?”

“When she told Rory she was pregnant he told her to get rid of it. She couldn’t believe he could be so cruel.”

“Is that when she came back to you?”

Before Rory got a chance to answer the question, the peloton started to catch up with them. Jack said to Robby, “I will work with you to keep the breakaway going, but only if you agree to answer my questions.”

Robby looked over his shoulder and saw the pack bearing down on them. “Deal,” he said. 

Jack pulled around Robby and started accelerating. With each of them taking turns pulling and drafting they had a better chance at keeping away. Jack was surprised at the strength he felt in his legs. He hadn’t felt that physically good on a bike in a long time. It reminded him of his best carefree racing days as a young man. He flashed to a memory of his former wife Rosie telling him he had ‘gotten his fight back.’ Maybe, she was right. 

Jack and Robby put their heads down and rode hard for the next 20 km until the motorbike that advised them about the time splits showed them that they had 2 minutes on the pack. 

Jack called breathlessly to Carter, “I think we can let up on the gas a bit now.” Carter sat up a bit to slow down the pace and the two men found a riding rhythm that was easier to maintain over a longer distance.

“So, back to my question, why did you lie?”

“What makes you think I lied? I told you I killed Fenshaw and I did.”

“We know that you didn’t kill him. He was killed by injection, but not from that syringe.”

“What do you mean?”

“The content of the syringe was just a homeopathic compound. It wouldn’t have killed him.”

Carter looked forward and rode hard for several minutes without speaking again. Finally, he said, “look, I know that Julia did it and I don’t blame her. But she is going to have a baby and she can’t do that in jail. Let me take the fall for her. It’s the least I can do for not protecting her from Fenshaw.”

“I can’t do that, Robby, you know that. But we can find the real killer. I don’t think it was Julia either.”

“You don’t? But Miss Fisher said that a woman had been seen riding Rory’s bike away from the VCU?”

“Yes, but there are more women than Miss Morrison who can ride a racing bike.”

“What do you know about Rory’s involvement with race fixing?”

“I know he was asked a few times. He used to laugh about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that before?”

“I never thought it was that serious. You think someone killed him over this race?”

“Fenshaw had received a deposit of £500 two weeks before the race. Do you know anything about that?”

“Wow. That’s a lot of money for this sport. He never said anything to me. But he did laugh about being asked to throw the race only the day before he died.”

“Did he tell you who asked him?”

“No, he just said I wouldn’t believe who it was. We weren’t getting along that well in those days.”

The two riders could hear the peloton gaining on them again as they passed the race marker indicating that they had 20 km to go. 

“Do you think we can win this thing?” Jack said to Carter nodding his head at the sign.

“How are your legs?”

“Not bad for not having raced in years.”

“If you can help lead me out, I can win it.”

“Then let’s give it our best.”

Jack and Robby put their heads down and picked up the pace, changing places between pulling and drafting again. As they turned into the west, they felt a strong cross-wind. Carter called back, “if we play our cards right, this wind will split the group and give us an advantage.” Jack nodded agreement.

Luck was with them and when the peloton turned the corner, the wind caused the group to split and two of the favourites were caught out and dropped from the main pack. Fabio Lorenz was lucky and managed to stay with the front group. He knew if he could catch the two men in the break he had a chance of winning the race. His deal with Sarah Gates required him to place at least third but a win would both increase his financial advantage and his rankings. He called to the other riders to work with him to close down the gap. 

The peloton was not able to catch up with Robby and Jack until just under the banner for 1 km to the finish line. This meant it would be a bunch sprint. Jack called out to Robby, “I haven’t led out a sprinter in more than 15 years, but I will do my best, stay close.” Robby grabbed Jack’s back wheel and both men stood on the pedals in a hard sprint. As they reach 100 m to go, Jack swung off to give Robby a slingshot at the finish line. He crossed a wheel length ahead of Lorenz with Jack in third. 

When he realized he was over the line, the effort of racing for 100 km hit him like a ton of bricks. He swerved into the finishing area, toppled off the bike and collapsed on the ground. Phryne, who had been told earlier by Bert and Cec that Jack was riding the race ran over to Jack’s prone body. “Jack, Jack,” she shouted into his face as she lifted his head onto her lap.

“Phyrne,” he gasped, “I’ll be okay. I just need water and food.” He tried to sit up but she forced him to stay down. 

“What were you thinking? You were supposed to be under cover but that didn’t mean you had to ride the whole race!”

“I felt good, Phryne, better than I have in years. I know I’ll pay for this, but it was amazing.” He was still gasping a bit but grinning. 

Jane and Dot arrived with a canteen of cold water and some biscuits and Jack sat up to drink and eat. The race announcer called for the prize winners to come to the podium and Jane and Phyrne helped Jack to his feet. He was a little wobbly to start but as he approached the podium and realized that he had come in third in one of Melbourne’s most competitive races, pride took over and he straightened up and strode towards the stage. 

“Not so fast, Robinson,” Simon Gates put out an arm to block his way. “Only registered racers can claim prizes. You didn’t register and you didn’t have a number. No podium place for you today.”

Jack started laughing. “Of course, I completely forgot that this wasn’t my race.” 

“Technically, we should disqualify Robby Carter because you helped him, but he wasn’t to know that you were in the race illegally, so we are overlooking that violation.”

“Carter didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to be there. It’s good you aren’t making him pay for my mistake.”

“However,” Gates continued, “there is good news.”

“Yes?”

“The sports writers for the local papers get to choose the most combative rider and they were unanimous in picking you. Since that prize doesn’t come with any money, the race committee decided you could accept it.” 

Jack heard the race announcer say his name through the bullhorn, “and the winner of the most combative rider this year is an unregistered racer but some of the old folks around here will remember this name from before the war, Jack Robinson.”

Phyrne, Jane, Dot, Bert and Cec all cheered lustily as Jack took the stage and accepted the red carnations which were the prize. 

As she leaned into him for a kiss, Phyrne saw Sarah Gates talking to Hector Chambers over his shoulder.


	16. Robinson and Fisher Solve the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phyrne and Jack catch the killer

Phryne took off running towards Sarah Gates and Hector Chambers as she called to Jane to find Constable Collins and Bert and Cec. 

“Someone stop that woman,” she cried out as Sarah started running towards her car. 

The riders who were still around the podium and the remaining crowd parted as Phryne barreled through them towards Gates and Chambers.

“What is she talking about, Jack?” Simon Gates exclaimed as he watched the situation unfold. “What has Sarah done?” As he watched Sarah running away, he started chasing Phyrne and calling to his wife, “Sarah, come back! What’s going on?” 

Jack joined the chase but the exertion of the race meant that he had little chance of catching up. Fortunately, he was able to spot the cab and called to Bert to block the roadway so that Sarah Gates couldn’t escape even if she made it to her car. 

Phryne’s speed was more than a match for Sarah Gates despite the head start and by the time she reached the Besset, Phyrne was there with her pistol pointed directly at Sarah’s heart. 

“It’s over, Sarah. Whatever you got out of this, it’s not enough to account for two lives.”

Sarah Gates tried to deflect her saying, “I have no idea what you are talking about Miss Fisher. I am just in a hurry to get home.”

“You mean get home to hide the winnings that J.K. Starley made from Hector Chambers betting on Fabio Lorenz? Or to hide the evidence of paying Rory Fenshaw to take a dive? Or the evidence that you killed Jeff Dunbar when he found out that you had already killed Fenshaw?”

“You can’t prove any of it.”

“Don’t bet on it, Mrs. Gates,” Jack had finally caught up to the two women with Simon Gates.

Simon turned on both Jack and Phryne angrily. “What’s going on? Do you seriously think my wife committed murder?”

“Actually, two murders and at least one fraud,” Phyrne responded looking directly at Simon. “Perhaps you were unaware of your wife’s gambling problem?”

Simon Gates looked chagrined and turned to Sarah, “You told me you had taken care of that.”

“Don’t tell me you believe them? Darling?” Sarah pleaded with Simon.

Sergeant Crossley and Constable Collins approached the group and Jack addressed them. 

“If you go and talk to Hector Chambers, you will find that Mrs. Gates placed several bets on this race starting with Rory Fenshaw to lose and then Fabio Lorenz to win. She did so in the name of J.K. Starley, an alias. You will find bank records matching a withdrawal from her account and a deposit to Rory Fenshaw’s in the sum of £500.”

Phyrne continued, “you will also find cycling kit that matches Rory Fenshaw’s and a torn flowered dress in her wardrobe when you search her home. Make sure you check for her fingerprints on the phial and syringe from the VCU.”

“How do you know all this,” demanded Crossley.

“Fisher and Robinson Consulting Detectives always get their man. Or woman in this case,” Phryne retorted. 

Simon Gates was still looking stunned. He took Sarah’s arm and looked directly at her. “Is it true, Sarah? Did you kill Rory and Jeff?”

“Oh stop it with the fake sympathy, Simon. All you ever cared about was racing and bikes. You were never around for the things I wanted or needed. And you never supported my plans for a women’s cycling union. So I decided to mess with the races. Plus, it didn’t hurt that I made a lot of money doing it and the riders were happy to oblige when enough ready cash was sent their way.”

“How many races did you spike?” Simon was incredulous.

“I don’t know. Most of the ones this year. But Rory got nasty. He took my money but threatened to expose me. I had to stop him.”

“You killed him? You killed a young man for money?” 

“No. I killed him for you. If it came out that I was fixing races, you would be finished at the VCU. I hated that you cared more about it than about me, but I didn’t want to hurt you like that.”

“Where did you get the drugs, by the way,” Phryne addressed her question to Sarah Gates.

“Fabio Lorenz gave them to me. He was getting them from Julia Morrison, like all the racers. I traded them for a bit of extra money in his pay packet if he won the race today.”

Jack looked at both Simon and Sarah and said, “so why kill Jeff Dunbar as well?”

“When you mentioned that J.K. Starley was betting on races, he remembered that I used to use the name as an alias when we were sneaking into clubs underage. He confronted me at his house. I didn’t mean to kill him but he was laughing at me and at Simon. I had no choice.” 

“Crossley,” Jack said, “I assume you are taking this confession down?”

“Yes, Robinson,” Crossley replied. “It seems you and Miss Fisher were right.”

Turning to the Gates’, Crossley said, “Mrs. Gates, you are under arrest. Mr. Gates, you may accompany your wife to City South if you wish to. Constable Collins, please escort the Gates’ to the car.”

The police officers and the Gates’ left the race area as Phyrne turned back to Jack and offered her hand for a shake.

“Our first successful case as Fisher and Robinson.” 

“Robinson and Fisher,” Jack countered as he shook her hand formally and then pulled her in for a kiss. She noticed as he did so that he was starting to shiver. 

“It’s just low blood sugar,” Jack told her. “The standard treatment is hot sweet tea, a warm bath and a massage.”

Phyrne looked skeptical.

“Honest,” Jack insisted, “the technical term for the rider’s support staff is soigneur or soigneuse. Hot sweet tea, warm bath and a massage from my favourite soigneuse.” He paused. “Please?”

She smiled lasciviously at him. “I am sure we can accommodate the most combative rider of the day.”

Her carnal thoughts were ultimately thwarted though. As she later massaged chestnut scented oil into Jack’s muscular thighs she was accompanied only by his gentle snoring.


	17. The Commissioner and His Comeuppance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phyrne concludes her own investigation and Jack gets some good news.

“Commissioner Blenheim,” Phyrne breezed into the Commissioner’s office unannounced the morning after the race. The Commissioner’s secretary trailed behind her apologizing for letting her through without an appointment.

“Not to worry, Mr. Martin, Miss Fisher is welcome.”

Turning to Phyrne, he pointed to a chair and said, “please, make yourself comfortable. Congratulations on the successful resolution of the cycling murders. You and Jack Robinson clearly make a good team.”

“Clearly,” Phryne said, tartly. “I had the opportunity to meet your lovely wife the other day.”

“She told me. She was very impressed with you, Miss Fisher. Claire is very modern even while she raises our children to respect tradition.”

“I understand that to be true and I like it.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Fisher?”

“Perhaps you can start with why you asked Jack Robinson to resign?”

“I didn’t ask him to resign, Miss Fisher. I asked him to ‘normalize’ his relationship with you. He chose to resign. I get the sense that you keep him on a short leash.” The Commissioner’s tone was sneering but it belied the knot growing in his stomach. He was sure that Phryne had not showed up thinking she could simply ask him to change his mind. He expected she would be trouble. 

“I take great offence to that remark, Commissioner. I don’t keep him on any leash at all. Nor does he keep me on a leash. We are, what are commonly referred to as, consenting adults. We care for each other and we demonstrate that by sharing physical affection.”

“You make it sound so animalistic,” the Commissioner replied.

“We are animals, Commissioner. Animals with self-consciousness and big brains, but like other animals, we have physical needs. I don’t see anything shameful in that.”

“You don’t?” The Commissioner seemed shocked. 

“We do far, far worse things to one another than have sex. We go to war. We kill millions in muddy trenches. We lock up the infirm. We prosecute inverts for love. We are animals and sometimes we act more like it than others. Two people who love each other and who wish to express that love outside the bonds of marriage are far less animalistic than all of those other things.”

“Spare me the lecture, Miss Fisher. The Police Board are clear. Their senior officers must follow a strict moral code. Especially after the Sanderson debacle. Don’t get me wrong, I like Robinson and I want to promote him. He is the best DI in the force. Maybe in Australia. But I can’t do that while the two of you strut around Melbourne as if traditions like marriage were irrelevant.”

“But they are irrelevant, Commissioner and we don’t ‘strut’. We simply don’t hide. Secrets are far more dangerous than publicly shunning convention.”

“I am not so sure about that, Miss Fisher. Your Aunt has some very strong views on the subject.”

“I am sure she does. However, she doesn’t dictate what I do and do not do.”

The Commissioner shrugged and raised his hands with open palms. “It is out of my hands.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Phryne responded and fixed the Commissioner with a fierce stare. Tell me how Dagmar Wilson fits into your strict moral code for senior officers?”

Commissioner Blenheim fought to keep his face blank but his stomach was in his throat. He had worked very hard to keep his copybook clean all the way through his rise through the police force. But he had never gotten over his teenage romance with Dagmar Wilson, or Clark as she was called then. When he and Claire had discovered the Wilsons in Melbourne, his wife had been keen to rekindle their friendship from Perth. She had never known that ‘Tag and Dag’ had been a romantic item in school. He had tried very hard to keep things platonic, but it quickly became clear that both of them wanted to revisit those heady feelings from their youth. Since Claire had moved into her own room after the children, he had felt as if his needs were not being met at home and this mild resentment spurred him on. Dagmar had known early into her marriage that her husband preferred men. The first time they had gotten together at the train hotel on the road to Ballarat all of the fire of their youth had been restored. They were desperate for each other. He looked forward to Tuesday nights and Saturday mornings as if they were a port in a storm. 

He finally spoke. “I am quite sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t you? Let’s not insult one another, Commissioner. I am not a detective for nothing. And if I could find out what you do at the Conservative Club and at the Rockbank train hotel, then so can others if they want to.”

There was a long and pregnant pause. It was broken by Tag Blenheim.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Give Jack Robinson his job back with no conditions.”

“And what do I get?”

“My silence.”

The Commissioner’s humiliation was morphing into rage. How dare this uppity woman threaten his position and his status. How dare she force him to humiliate himself in front of Robinson and worse the Police Board. 

“Ah, the true Phryne Fisher emerges. You are a blackmailer.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Excuse me?”

“What do you think it was, except blackmail, for you to tell Jack Robinson he had to choose his job or me?” 

“If you want to split hairs, I suppose it was extortion, not blackmail. But I am entitled as his boss and the Police Commissioner to make those decisions.”

“And you are entitled, as the Police Commissioner to protect your officers from the caprices of the Police Board. I happen to know that there are DI’s who have been implicated in stand over schemes, who are too drunk to work, who have beaten their wives and they are protected by senior management. But a noble and good man is forced to give up the career he has worked so hard for because he made the mistake of loving me.

“And worse, a good woman like Claire Blenheim is lied to by the ‘morally upstanding’ Police Commissioner every Tuesday night and every Saturday morning.” Phryne’s anger was white hot but she was as cool as a cucumber.

After another pause during which the two of them stared hard at one another, the Commissioner spoke again.

“Okay. I will give Robinson his job back. No conditions. You have to handle Mrs. Stanley.”

“Thank you, Commissioner. Leave Aunt Prudence to me.”

As she stood up to leave, the Commissioner fired one more shot. He was still angry and with that, terrified that Phryne would tell Claire about Dagmar. 

“You are taking a big risk that I won’t expose you as a blackmailer in public or to your precious Jack.”

“Not really.” Phryne reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. She tossed it onto the desk. Commissioner Blenheim knew what it would contain even without opening it. 

“It is not ‘bad behaviour’ which creates risks, it is secrets. My relationship with Jack is out in the open. People may not like it but they can’t hurt me with it. But your relationship with Mrs. Wilson is a deep secret from the Board, from your wife and from the public.” 

“I am not asking you to give up your relationship with Mrs. Wilson,” she continued. “As far as I am concerned you are also consenting adults. Though in your case the relationship is both illegal and harmful to your wife and children. But what you do is your affair. However, there are copies of those photographs in a safety deposit box. Whether they become public is up to you. And whether someone else is able to do the simple detective work I did is also a problem for you. The risk is all on your side, Commissioner.” 

Phryne turned on her heel and left the office in a flourish of fine couture and French perfume. 

Commissioner Blenheim studied the envelope on his desk. “I suppose it’s not such a bad deal after all,” he said to himself. “I get Robinson back at City South, I get to keep Dagmar, and I get to keep my job. I have been outmaneuvered, but remarkably, I trust that Miss Fisher will keep her word.” 

 

“A call for you, Inspector, I mean Mr. Robinson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler.”

Jack wasn’t used to getting calls at Phryne’s house yet, but it did happen occasionally. 

“Jack Robinson?” he answered.

“Jack, Tag Blenheim here.

“Sir?” 

“Impressive work on the cycling murders. Poor Crossley really wasn’t up to much in the end. But thankfully, you and your Miss Fisher were on the job.” 

“Thank you, Sir, I guess.”

“I have had a change of heart. Claire, my wife, is a modern woman, much like your Miss Fisher, though she does believe in the institution of marriage. She is taking your side in this situation.”

“Yes?” Jack felt hopeful. Though he had enjoyed their first caper as Robinson and Fisher, Consulting Detectives, he truly missed his job as Detective Inspector. In addition to loving the work, he also realized that if he was going to hold his own in this relationship he really did need to have independent means and an independent life. 

“I want you back at City South. No conditions. As you say, you are doing nothing illegal and certainly nothing that is as damaging to the force as some of the other things that go uncommented on and undisciplined. I will take your side with the Board if they challenge me. That bunch of old fuss pots will need to join the 20th century one of these days.”

“I am glad to hear that, Sir. Well, not about the other things that go undisciplined. I would certainly be happy to help you bring some order to the force if that is your plan, Sir. But I am glad to go back to City South. I appreciate your change of heart.”

“I appreciate your strong sense of right and wrong, Robinson. And it doesn’t hurt that your partner in life is also a stand out detective in her own right. No reason to deprive the force of her talents.”

“No reason at all, Sir.” Jack hoped the Commissioner wasn’t going to recruit her as a constable, or worse, a detective. They hung up after agreeing that jack would return to the station in the morning.

After hanging up the phone, he put his head into the kitchen and asked Mr. Butler if he knew when Miss Fisher would be returning. 

“I believe I hear the Hispano pulling up now, Sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. Could you perhaps open a bottle of champagne? I have been asked to go back to work and I want to celebrate.”

“Shall I take it upstairs, Inspector?” Mr. Butler was nothing if not discreet but prepared in advance. 

“Very good idea, Mr. Butler,” Jack replied. It had taken him awhile to be comfortable with the fact that his sexual relationship with Miss Fisher was an open topic at Wardlow, but he was slowly beginning to appreciate how freeing it was not to have secrets. 

As Phryne walked in the front door an unusually expressive Jack pushed the door closed behind her and pressed her against it. “My goodness, Inspector Robinson, what has gotten into you?”

“I have my job back Miss Fisher. Time to celebrate.” Jack leaned in to kiss Phyrne’s red cupid’s bow lips. She responded eagerly, taking his lower lip between her teeth and running her hands down his back. 

He loved taking her by surprise with physical affection. And she loved it when he pressed his advantage, so to speak. 

When they came up for air she asked, “have you asked Mr. B for some champagne?”

“I have and it is upstairs on ice.”

“Well then, onward ho!”

Jack bent down to catch Phyrne under her shoulders and knees to carry her up the stairs. 

“Heavens,” she said, “maybe you should resign more often.”

The activities which consumed them for the rest of the afternoon might have had Mrs. Stanley and the Board reconsidering their position on the propriety of the relationship between Phyrne and Jack but it was none of their damn business.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no such race as the Melbourne 100km Classic. 
> 
> Doping in sports is as old as competition. A cocktail of caffeine, cocaine, strychnine and heroin was one way athletes doped in the 1920's.


End file.
